


Hey, Do You Remember that One Time...?

by fudgycub



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Camping, Collection of one-shots, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Lots of random garbage, OOC, One-Shot, Pining, Probably OCC, Swearing, detective stuff, i guess, idk - Freeform, lots of headcanons, more tags to come, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-05-20 16:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudgycub/pseuds/fudgycub
Summary: Connor and Hank were...an interesting pair. Here are some random stories about their hijinks, adventures, and just random scenarios!Most of these stories are stand alone one-shots... some may have multiple parts. I.e.: a collection of tales that range from sweet and homely, to tear-jerking and angsty.(Or, author sucks at summaries almost as much as she sucks at writing in general.)Feel free to send requests, and I'll do my best with 'em. Some requests may be getting moved to a new collection, due to the valuable input of a concerned reader; stay tuned.





	1. Domestic Connor Part 1: Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted on AO3, so please forgive any formatting errors! Please be mindful of the turmoil that is writing Connor as an expressive, analytical dude (sobs). I hope you enjoy!

It was Saturday, which meant Hank would be sleeping until 2 o’clock in the afternoon. That also meant the Connor would have to find something to occupy himself. He checked the time. His display read 12:07. 

He had about two hours left to kill, and he’d already completed all of his daily objectives: feed Sumo, weed the garden, water the flowers, dust, do the dishes… 

Connor put a hand to his hip as he pondered what to do next. Ah, of course! Feeding Hank… 

Would it be better to make lunch or dinner? Two was close to lunch time, and dinner. Though, because Hank would just be waking up, maybe breakfast would be best.

_Yes, breakfast is the best choice_.

Now, he had to decide what to cook. 

    // Accessing catalogued files; Groceries last bought 52 hours, 38 seconds ago. Restocked items: milk (one half gallon), eggs (dozen), flour (one pound), coffee (three varieties, 48 oz.), strawberries (one carton), and juice (orange, 12 oz.).

_ Maybe I should check the pantry?   _ Connor opened the cabinets. He noticed some previously stocked items. Surprisingly, most of them were for baking.

    // Request: Find recipe with available ingredients.

Connor looked through the recipes.

“Pancakes?” Connor nearly giggled, “What a peculiar name.”

    // Find etymology of: pancakes.

As he sifted through the history of pancakes, he gathered the equipment he needed. Then, he got the ingredients as well. As he measured out the dry ingredients, he realized it was too early to start cooking.

_ What a rudimentary mistake _ , Connor frowned at himself.  _ If I was still a part of Cyberlife… no, I shouldn’t pursue this thought _ . 

He shuddered, but was thankfully saved by Sumo. He landed on Connor’s foot, and whined for attention.

“What a faithful companion you are,” Connor grinned, despite himself.

Sumo barked once, and looked up to the gentle android above him. Connor knelt and rubbed behind Sumo’s ears. Sumo immediately began wagging his tail.

“Shall we go for a walk, then?” Connor stood, and grabbed the leash. Sumo followed happily behind.

The two wandered around the block for a little while, but Connor found himself walking into a small boutique district. Lining the street was an old-fashioned book store that sold actual paper books, a café themed around the 1970’s, and a tailor's shop.

He felt oddly out of place; he was just too new to be in this place, dedicated to things that were dated. As Connor turned to leave, Sumo started pulling him down the avenue instead. It took Connor by surprise, and he stumbled a few steps. His ankle component registered a discomfort.

//No serious damage detected.

“Sumo, please!” Connor allowed himself to be pulled a little longer, but something caught his eye. In the window of the tailor’s shop were some outfits. There rested a sleek vest suit on a mannequin (which Connor fancied immensely), a girl’s dress with many lacey layers, and a piece of clothing Connor had never seen anyone wear before.

//Inquiry// 

Connor gave the leash a delicate pull, and the pair came to a stop. 

_ An apron?  _ Connor thought as data filled his vision.

He entered the store with Sumo in tow. There was a human-  _ no, I shouldn’t refer to people so coldly anymore. _

A man with dark hair was standing behind the counter, and he gently smiled as Connor entered.

“Uh, hello!” Connor greeted, “Is it okay if I bring my dog in?”

“Yes, of course,” the older man jovially responded, “Come in. I haven’t had an android customer in quite a while.”

Connor smiled, and felt a blush creep into his cheeks. He cleared his throat, and took a passing glance at the other items lining the store. Finally, he turned to the cashier.

“Ah, I would like to purchase the apron you have in the window,” Connor smiled, "please." 

“Excellent choice,” the man stood, and got the apron from the window display. The item was vintage. It was striped vertically with pastel pink, blue, and yellow stripes. There was magenta lace at the waist, and around the piece that tied at the neck. Connor liked it. It was…

“It’s very cute, isn’t it?” The man smiled, “It was expertly repaired by my wife. Can't even tell that any changes were made in the first place.”

Connor nodded, silently admiring the work that was done to the clothing. He paid for the item, which was put into a brown bag, and he left.

 

Returning home, Sumo tiredly sat by the television. Connor washed his hands, and went back to his work. How long had they been out?

//Time Inquiry// 13: 28

“Perfect,” Connor happily mumbled to himself. He filled a kettle with water, and set it to boil on the stove. Hank contested that the best part of having Connor around was the coffee he made; it was dark and strong. Connor never had the heart to tell Hank that his compliments made something in this mechanical body whirr and swell. He would relate it akin to pride, and satisfaction.

Regardless, it gave Connor enough incentive to continue providing for Hank. Making his meals, cleaning his home, and the like was the most productive way to spend his time, anyways.

_Focus, Connor..._

Connor grabbed the flour, and tried to open it. The paper was stuck, and Connor couldn’t quite get a grip on it. He finally got it to open. It puffed white into his face and onto the counter.

“That was not a satisfactory outcome,” Connor muttered. He wiped his face with his arm and cleaned the spilled flour quickly. He turned to the item he had bought, simply on a curious whim. It would be beneficial to wear it, considering the situation…

* * *

 

Hank awoke to a sweet smell. It was buttery, and carried the feeling of a happy memory with it. He rubbed at his eyes grumpily. A quick glance at his clock showed him that it was two o’clock exactly. Hank grunted something of a laugh. 

_ Connor must be rubbing off on me _ , he thought as he stood and made his way out of his room.

“Morning, Hank!” Connor’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Jesus…” Hank grinned, “It’s already two in the afternoon! Why the hell did you even bother making food?”

Hank yawned as he entered the kitchen.

“It’s optimal for you to eat three meals a day,” Connor responded, “I thought breakfast at two might be a nice change. Besides, I always cook for you.”

Hank sat without looking at Connor, and greedily drank the hot mug of coffee that was waiting for him. At Hank’s usual place was a plate, fork, knife, spoon, and a napkin.  _ Damn kid is still so precise and…  _ inhuman, Hank thought with displeasure. 

Connor pulled Hank from his thoughts, placing a stack of pancakes in front of Hank.

“Holy fuck,” Hank said with surprise, staring at the steaming pile of sweet disks, “How many fucking pancakes did you make?”

“Ah, one standard recipe makes…” Connor paused, his LED turning yellow for a moment, “Fifteen pancakes.”

“That is way more than fifteen,” Hank crossed his arms, then looked over at Connor. His face went blank, and Connor stared at him with confusion. A moment passed, and Connor’s cheeks began to burn at Hank’s staring with that empty expression.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Hank slowly asked.

“An apron…?” Connor responded, just as slowly.

“Why?” Hank rubbed the bride of his nose, then shot his head up, “And where did you even  _ get _ it?” 

“I bought it, while walking Sumo, for no particular reason…” Connor shifted uncomfortably, “As for why I’m wearing it…”

“No need,” Hank smiled, “I think I’ve got it figured out.”

Connor didn’t move or speak, figuring that waiting was the best choice. 

“You’ve got flour on your nose…” Hank leaned back in his chair, stifling a laugh.

“Oh,” Connor said with surprise, nervously rubbing at his nose.

“Holy fucking Christ,” Hank suddenly exclaimed with a gruff laugh, “It’s even in your hair!”

“Wh-what?!” Connor blushed deeper, with a pouting expression pulling onto his face.

It was true; Connor's pristine hair style was coated in white powder. As he moved, some fell and descended to the floor. 

Hank’s hearty laugh continued, and only got louder at Connor’s protests to stop. Eventually, Connor couldn’t stop his own quiet giggle from escaping. Hank was still cooling off as he started to eat the pancakes with vigor.

Hank smiled.

It was nice having someone around besides Sumo… the house was so much warmer with Connor around.

  
  
  



	2. Hank's Too Tired, but What Else is New?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any formatting issues! Please be patient with me. And updates will be at least once a week; I have a few chapters written right now, so I might just post them all at once. (It'll be a mistake, but worth it).

   “Ugh, I need a fuckin’ drink,” Hank sat at his desk at the police station. His head was in his hands, and he was relying on his arm resting on his desk to keep his body upright.

   Connor was staring at him, taking a moment to scan him.

    “Lieutenant, you are experiencing extreme fatigue,” Connor put a concerned hand on Hank’s shoulder. That jostled him, like he had fallen asleep and was rudely woken up.

    “One, what did I say about scanning me?” Hank sighed.

    “That it is an invasion of your personal space,” Connor responded with a finger to his chin, “Oh, and that it’s ‘the fucking creepiest thing you’ve ever seen’.”

    “Two, stop calling me ‘Lieutenant’; it’s Hank,” he sighed again.

    “I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor’s concerned tone sounded from behind Hank, “I figured that, since we are at work, it was better to act professionally.”

    “Would you fuckin’ stop talkin’?” Hank mumbled, resting his head in his now crossed arms.

    //Request received, initiating…

    Connor stood behind Hank for several minutes, remaining silent and unmoving.

   He deactivated his simulated breathing, in fear that it would make too much noise.

    Speaking of noise…

    Hank was snoring.

    Connor shifted, and gently tapped Hank’s shoulder. It elicited no response.

    “Hank?” Connor whispered. Again, no response.

    //Analyzing possible options:

  1. Remain here quietly
  2. Wake up Hank
  3. Take him home



    Making up his mind swiftly, Connor gently wrapped his arms around Hank while pushing the chair to the side. His actions resulted in Hank’s head resting on Connor’s shoulder. Hank’s feet dragged slightly, so Connor took a moment to readjust his hold.

    “You’re a little, erm, heavy,” Connor grunted. _I’ll have to make adjustments to his diet. Maybe we should begin exercising._

    With that thought in mind, Connor walked with little (//Correction: very much) difficulty to Hank’s old car. Now, how to get Hank into the car…?

   He positioned Hank to rest on his knee and held him tight with one arm, while opening the passenger side door. He did it as quickly as he could, and as gently as he could. Hank grunted once in his sleep, and Connor stiffened.

   Hank mumbled something incomprehensible, then went still. Connor exhaled with relief; if he had awoken Hank, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Hank’s level of fatigue had registered at an average of 72 percent nearly all week. Yesterday’s all-nighter followed by today’s case had left Hank exhausted. 

   Earlier (exactly 13 minutes, 39 seconds ago), Hank’s exertion clocked in at a solid 93 percent. And, there was something else nagging at Connor. His processor was screaming at him.

    Connor sighed, closed his eyes, and put a hand to his temple. His LED flickered, illuminating half of Connor’s face in a soft yellow glow.

    // Analyze Hank’s body composition from the past 86 hours…

    Connor’s eyes flew open. He cast a near glare at Hank’s resting form.    

_He hasn’t been taking his sleeping aid_ , Connor thought. He couldn’t really feel anger, though. Connor knew that Hank was a proud man, but he knew even more what it felt like to be…

   C O M P R O M I S E D   

   He felt his breath hitch, but smothered those _bad_ feelings. Connor ran a hand through his immaculately groomed hair as he let out another ragged breath.

   “Connor?” Hank mumbled, shifting in his seat.

   “Hm?”

   “Where the fuck…?” Hank was tired, maybe delusional, “What are we doing here?”

   Connor thought for a moment.

   “We’re in your car,” Connor took out the car keys, and started the engine. He waited for the car to heat up, “I’m driving us home, seeing as you fell asleep in the office.”

   “Oh, okay,” Hank was uncharacteristically docile, and was soon drifting back to sleep.

   Connor took another breath (//restabilizing… respiration not necessary). _Calm down, Connor._

   He felt one of his nerves (circuits) twitch. His mind (a piece of hardware) was running simulations of… _bad_ things.

_Hank, dead. Connor’s doing. Bad,_ bad. _A woman, dark and strong, standing over him, melding into him, taking control of him…_

   //Abort simulation…

       Error; command not found

_Fuck_.

   Connor’s eyes were growing painful, seeing the images swirl past his mind in a blur. Something held Connor’s heart (just a pump, or maybe his core) in a vice. It pushed and swelled in a _bad_ way. It wouldn’t stop.

_I’ve got to...turn it off,_ Connor’s eyes scrunched in pain. Desperate, he let out a harsh and raspy whisper, “ _Please_.”

   //Ab-bbbborrrrtttttttt

       Error

   //AbooooRRRrTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

       ErR!rrrroR!rrrrrr

   It was too loud, the errors and failures burning into his oPtiCAl CoMpONents. Connor’s hand found his way into his hair again. He grabbed at it, tugging. He wanted it to be quiet.

   //Manual addition to objectives: Find way to silence the noise.

   Option found, running probability of success…

   Connor didn’t wait for the test to complete. He looked out into the darkness and smashed his head into the steering wheel.

   Hank jolted awake, looking around with confusion. He was in his car, on the passenger side. Connor was behind the wheel, his face crumpled in pain. Immediately, Hank felt an icy panic settle in. _An accident, we’ve been in an accident. Jesus, where the fuck is Cole?_

_Nope, it’s fine,_ Hank thought with a start. _I’m not… driving. Think; what the hell happened?_

   “Connor?” Hank grabbed his companion’s shoulder, and gave him a shake.

   Connor groaned, a single trail of thick blue thirium drip- drip- dripping.

   //Error; systems do not recognize behavior.

       Seek repair immediately

   //Scanning…

       Scan complete: damage to frontal biocomponent #6721

       Core processor running on 65 percent…

   Connor shifted, hissing in pain. _Why did I do that?_ He heard someone speaking to him. He lifted his head, feeling the thirium ooze down his face. It was… uncomfortable.

   “What the fuck, Connor?” Hank was giving him a furious look.

_I woke up Hank_ , Connor thought as his vision reeled, _Mission failed_.

   “I’m sorry I woke you, Lieutenant…” Connor’s voice was shaking.

   “Hey, kid. You okay?” The older man was feeling that cold panic tickle him again, “I thought we decided to drop the formalities.”

   “Yes,” the reply was curt, but Connor couldn’t supply enough brain-power to form reasonable sentences.

   “What happened?” Hank thought aloud. He wasn’t really looking for answers, but Connor supplied him enough.

   “A m-malfunction in my...system,” Connor’s face was pale, “No, my mind was filled with confusing things. It hurt. I had to s-stop it.”

   Hank felt a twinge of sympathy, and it quickly overwhelmed his body like the volatile poison it was.

   He couldn’t stop his body, it was like he was on autopilot. He engulfed Connor in a hug and began mussing his hair.

   “Shut the fuck up and go the fuck to sleep, you heap of junk,” Hank squeezed, and waited for Connor to respond. After several moments of no reaction, Hank pulled away.

   Connor’s eyes were closed. He was actually sleeping.

   Wait, wasn’t _Hank_ the one who desperately needed sleep? (Sleep was directly correlated with performance and positivity, and inversely related to his amount of grumpiness…)

_Well, whatever._ Hank grinned, took the keys out of the ignition and pulled his seat back. He relaxed, after locking the doors, and drifted into sleep once more. His thoughts came to a slow still. _What’s another half hour of missed sleep anyways?_

   You make sacrifices for people you care about, and parents give up everything for their kids.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, this chapter kind of wrote itself. I had an idea, started writing it, then went way off the board.
> 
> About Hank’s medications, this stemmed from my own distaste for using prescriptions. I feel like Hank would be reluctant to take something that would alter his mind or body (besides alcohol).


	3. Accidents Happen... Will You Forgive Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are phenomenal! Thank you for so many nice comments, requests and kudos. I'm working on the requests, but feel free to chomp on these pre-written chapters! Thanks again. :)
> 
> **Warning for excessive swearing and father-son pairing!**

“He’s getting away!” 

_ Well, obviously. _ Connor was chasing after a criminal who, as Hank cleverly observed, was running away.

The suspect had several warrants and quite the criminal history: car theft, petit larceny, and the possession and distribution of drugs, just to name a few.

The police pair were here for an arrest, and weren’t planning on letting this guy go easy. He was currently a key member in the sale of Red Ice, and if they got him alive, they could interrogate him. This guy could give them valuable information: who was the leader; who made the drugs?

Of course, any man with such a long criminal background wasn’t going to throw his hands up and surrender. 

No, this guy was ready for them. At the first knock on his run-down apartment door, three gunshots flew through the wood. Connor knew the man had a pistol, at least. Who knew what else he was hiding, though? He took the lead.

As he kicked down the door, the man had already been rushing out the window, onto the balcony. He was on the run, up to the roof.

_ Presumably, the suspect wishes to make an escape by jumping from roof to roof. _ In such a populated area, it was a decent plan.

“Fucking moron,” Hank grumbled, “Going up is never a good option.”

With that, the two ran after him. Connor easily climbed up the emergency fire escape, but Hank soon fell behind.

“Don’t rush,” Connor called to him, “I’d rather you not fall. In fact, you may wish to go back to the car and request backup. This may lead to a chase.”

    After a pause, Hank responded.

   “Fine,” Hank reluctantly and carefully descended the ladders and stairs.

Connor reached the top a few moments later. The suspect was not in his immediate sight. There was no evidence that he had fled yet, so he had to be hiding somewhere. Connor scanned around quickly. There was a small greenhouse, a few large ventilation systems, and a staircase. He slowly approached the protruding vents, ready to defend himself.

   The suspect ran out, screaming and throwing wild punches. Connor evaded the first two, dealt an expertly placed chop to the man’s neck, then kicked his legs out from under him. The man fell in a heap, but wasn’t done. He still had the gun.

_    He’s under the influence _ , Connor thought. His pupils were dilated and he was near foaming at the mouth. It was imperative to his survival that he take into account that the man may act in an unpredictable manner.

   Connor saw that the man was crying.  _ He’s scared.  _

“Stay the fuck away from me!” The man was hysterical, “I’ll fucking kill you! I swear to fucking God, I’ll blow your goddamn android brains right the fuck out!”

Connor put his hands up and spoke softly, “Okay. I understand.”

“No the  _ fuck _ you don’t!” The man’s gun rang out, and a bullet flew past Connor. It grazed his shoulder, and he winced.  _ No, remain calm. He can’t know that you were hurt. _

“Carmen,” Connor took a slow step forward as the man shakily stood, “You don’t have to do this.”

“The fuck do you know?” The suspect, now deemed Carmen, yelled. He grinned and shook his gun, “I hold all the cards, fuckin’ scum.”

Connor shook his head, “It’s pointless, Carmen. Do you hear those sirens? There are more police coming for you. If you take my life, you’ll just have another crime to atone for when they catch you.”

Carmen seethed, “No. No! Tell those fuckers to clear out!”

“I can’t do that,” Connor was just two feet, a single bound, away from the suspect. Connor looked grim as he approached the suspect, “If you come quietly, I can guarantee you a plea deal.”

Carmen put his head in his hands, mumbling curse words. Connor was about to take him down, when the man suddenly turned.

“Fuck all this shit!” Carmen looked motivated, “Fuck your police, fuck the androids, and fuck you!”

Another bullet boomed through the quiet air. It struck Connor where his lower left ribs would be. The bullet _ hurt _ as it lodged itself in his body. He fell to the ground with surprise. His blue blood was slowly pooling around him.

“That’ll fuckin’ teach ya,” Carmen took a step forward and kicked Connor in his wounded shoulder. He did it twice, before a hand gripped his ankle.

He was pulled down, and hit the cement roof hard. The gun flew out of his hand. He was dizzy, disoriented, but so was Connor.

“You’ve made a big mistake,” Connor was panting on top of the suspect, “My partner is going to be out for blood.”

“Wh-what?” Carmen stuttered, his vision spinning as Connor punched him in the nose. The suspect was knocked out (//neutralized), but Connor didn’t know how long he would stay like that.

He saw error messages fly by, which he readily dismissed. His blood, which felt both cool and warm at the same time, was dripping down his leg and seeping into the suspect’s clothing. Connor couldn’t keep himself upright. The loss of thirium was making him tired, so tired…

Connor didn’t register when the door to the staircase burst open, or the thundering of many footsteps as they rushed out and onto the roof. The police officers saw as Connor fell onto his side.

“We’ve got a man down!” An officer at the front was yelling, trying to get an EMT’s attention, “Suspect seems to be passed out. Proceed with caution.”

   “Connor!” Hank barreled out of the group of cops. He ran to Connor and saw the yellow flashing of Connor’s LED.

   “Fuck, Connor!?” Hank was shaking his shoulder gently.

   Connor hissed, and cracked his eyes open.

   “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” Hank muttered. As he pulled his hand away, it was slick with blue. “Fuck, double fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Connor was mumbling, “I’ve lost a small amount of thirium. It’ll be okay, Hank.”

Hank’s eyes were tearing up, “You shouldn’t be the one reassuring me, kid.”

“Whatever,” Connor’s eyes closed again, “You’re just a big softy, anyway.”

“Hey!” Hank was holding Connor now, “Don’t you dare fucking shutdown.”

“I’m just going to rest,” Connor’s voice was fading.

An EMT ran over, and immediately took Connor. Somebody else was telling Hank that it would be fine, that they would do their best to make sure his friend got taken care of. Then, Connor and the first responders were gone.

Hank stood, dusted off his pants, slipped his hands in his pockets and stomped away.

“Hey, Anderson!” Someone yelled, “We need you to make a report!”

Whoever that guy was, he just got ignored.

Hank was going to get a drink and then he was going to go home.

The next day, Hank woke up on his dirty couch. In the 18 hours since Connor was taken away from him, Hank had downed more scotches than he could remember. There was a case of empty beer bottles on his floor, too. 

Hank basically fell off of his couch, barely catching himself. He stumbled to his bathroom. He splashed his face with water, then brushed his teeth. He ignored his disheveled hair, and went back to his place on the sofa. He didn’t feel sick, not yet anyway. His head hurt, though.  

Hank heard Sumo at his food dish. The poor dog was pawing at it, making it clink on the floor. The old man stood with less difficulty than before. He put food and water in Sumo’s bowls, then set to make some coffee.

_Wait, where the hell is my coffee pot?_ Hank hadn’t made coffee in the past year. Connor just started doing it, and Hank hadn’t complained. Now, though…

_Whatever._ Hank was a capable man. He put some water in a pot, and let it boil. He took a coffee filter and placed it over a mug, then sprinkled in a tablespoon or so of coffee into the water. While he waited for the water, he checked his phone (which had been thrown haphazardly on his table in his drunken stupor). He had fifteen missed calls. Considering how rarely he got called, he figured that it was a very, very bad sign.

The water was hot, and Hank poured it into the mug. He simultaneously took a look through the calls. Two were from the local hospital, the other thirteen were from Fowler.

Hank groaned, and then called his boss back. The most recent call was only from half of an hour ago, so he wasn’t feeling too anxious.

“Anderson!” Fowler’s voice grated at Hank’s migraine, and he did his best not to snap at his superior.

“Yeah, what?” Hank’s pissed-off attitude was sent clearly through his tone.

“Connor has been waiting here for you since two in the goddamn morning, so why don’t you get your insufferable ass to the station.”

_ Fuck _ , Hank’s face was pale. What time was it now?  _ Noon?! _

Hank ignored Fowler, who was still bitching, and hung up. He hastily chugged his coffee, than ran to his car. Luckily, his keys were still in his jacket.

He raced to work, and screeched to a halt in the parking lot. He hopped out, and his foot got stuck on his seat belt.

_ What the hell? _ Hank rubbed his hand across his face, and then jogged all the way to his desk.

And, low and behold, Connor was sitting in his chair, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. The shirt had a blue tint, but it was hard to notice. The real evidence of his wounds were the holes in his shirt and jacket. Connor’s head was down, and his eyes were trained to the floor. Hank picked up a sniffle, then saw Connor wipe at his eye.

_ Fuuuuuuck _ , Hank was going to lose his shit.

Before he approached his partner, Hank caught Gavin sneering.  _ That  _ fucker _ ,  _ Hank thought,  _ if he did anything to Connor, his head will be hanging above my television. _

__ “Connor,” Hank’s anger gave him enough motivation to walk to his friend, “Are you alright?”

Connor was startled, looking over his shoulder at Hank. His eyes were red, and he looked like a mess.

“Lieutenant.” 

_ Oh, shit. That did  _ not _ sound alright. _

   “Uh, fuck…” Hank trailed off, nervously pulling at his collar, “Look, Connor. I’m-”

   “ANDERSON!” Fowler cut him off, and was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, “My office. Right fucking now.”

   Hank looked to Connor, but the  _ idiot _ turned away from him. With no other options, he trudged over to his superior.

   Fowler shut the door behind him, and was giving Hank a stern look.

“Listen, Jeffrey,” Hank began.

“No,  _ you _ listen,” Fowler interrupted him again, “Connor has been sitting at your desk all night. I found him here at six, basically hyperventilating. It took both me and Gavin to get the poor kid to calm down.”

“ _ Gavin _ ?” Hank looked shocked, “Fucking Gavin?”

“Yeah, Gavin,” Fowler’s expression was hard, but softened a little, “It’s gonna take a lot to apologize to him, Hank. He was really upset.”

Hank was staring at his hands. The guilt he felt was tugging at his heart.  _ What should I say? _

__ Apparently, he said that aloud, because Fowler responded.

“That’s not my problem,” Fowler turned to his monitor and began typing, “I suggest you say something soon, though. I’ve got a new case for you two.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Hank’s mouth hung open, “But Connor was just-”

“You’ll find he’s ready to work,” Fowler looked sad for a fraction of a second, but was soon back to scowling. “Now get outta here.”

“Okay,” Hank walked out, barely lifting his feet as he went.

When he turned to Connor, he found that he was talking with Gavin. Where tension might have been before was now replaced with friendliness. 

_ I fucked up big time, _ Hank decided.  _ If Connor is being nice to that fuck, and ignoring me. _

__ Hank summoned his courage and walked up to the pair. Connor’s back was turned, but Gavin said something before Hank could act.

“Hey!” Gavin’s obnoxious voice resounded, “It’s the old drunk bastard!”

Connor stiffened, and looked at Gavin angrily. He then turned to Hank, and the older man was surprised to find that Connor’s expression wasn’t cold. He almost looked ashamed.

“Hank,” Connor tried keeping his voice steady, but it was quaking just as noticeably as his body was, “I’m sorry.”

Flabbergasted, Hank took a step closer.

“The fuck?” Hank’s voice was deep, and sounded angry.

Connor winced.

_ Another “fuck” for the scrapbook _ , Hank sighed. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Connor, why are you sorry?”

“I-” Connor was starting to cry, “I was being rude to you a moment ago... “

“So?” Hank was getting more and more confused.

“Wh-what if- what if you didn’t  _ want  _ me anymore?” Connor whispered.

Gavin glared at Hank.  _ Where the fuck did that guy get off? Glaring at me? _

__ No, Gavin didn’t matter right now. Connor was starting to freak out again.

“I’m…” Hank was afraid to say anything, “Connor. Look at me.”

The light at Connor’s temple was spinning: yellow, red, yellow, red. He finally looked up.

“I’m sorry,” Hank wrapped his arms around Connor, “I’m so fucking ashamed.”

Connor’s face showed surprise, but he took no time in reciprocating the hug. He was crying a lot, more than he thought he could, and he couldn’t stop.

“I would never throw you away, Connor,” Hank could feel tears burning at his own eyes, “I’m sorry you got stuck with an asshole like me.”

Connor was laughing, but it sounded more like a strangled sob.

“I wouldn’t pick anybody else,” he said, tightening his hold.

The two were startled by the sound of clapping. They were apart in a flash, and looked to the sound.

Gavin and Fowler (as well as a few other members of the team) were standing and applauding them.

“That was fucking beautiful,” Gavin teased, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

A rose fell by Hank’s foot, and he glared at the woman who threw it at him.  _ Was that the receptionist?! _

   “Well done,” Fowler was smirking.

“Oh, fuck off!” Hank retorted, fuming mad.

Connor was blushing and stared into his lap.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Hank pointed to Connor’s flustered face, “He’s going to be stuck loading for the next fifteen minutes!”

Everyone in the room started a chorus of laughter, and Connor felt his chest swell. He started laughing, and looked up innocently at Hank.

“I love you, dad!”

Hank didn't move, way past surprised at this point, while everyone shared a collective “aww!”

Hank scratched his cheek and muttered, “I love you, too, son.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one really got me in my feels... Here's another example of a story where I had a solid plan, took a sharp left turn and then loved the outcome.  
> I really love this pair as a father-son relationship, but don't feel discouraged in sending ship requests. Just because I enjoy writing this kind of fluff doesn't mean I won't write what somebody else likes. :)


	4. The Towel Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by, and thus dedicated to, user stardustgirl941. ^3^ Hopefully, it's not too ridiculous. I hope you enjoy, and thanks to everyone for reading!

    “Make yourself comfortable, and don’t break anything,” Hank was walking to his bedroom, leaving Connor dumbfounded at the couch alone, “I’m going to hit the hay.”

    “Oh, affirmative,” Connor said glumly, “Sleep well.”

    “See you tomorrow, kid.”

    Connor nodded, then sat in silence. He wished he had some way to occupy his time at night. Nearly everything he did resulted in Hank waking up. He usually just turned on the television and let its flashing blue images lull him into a stupor.

    Connor could always _try_ to sleep, but that usually ended with him crying quietly into the sofa. Sometimes, he could rest if Hank was nearby. Connor didn’t have the nerve to ask Hank if it was okay to stay in his room, though. Instead, he’d just suffer in the dark living room.

    _At least I have Sumo_ , Connor thought with a sad smile.

    Tonight, Connor tuned into an old time movie. It was in black and white, which Connor liked. He let it play without really focusing. _Hank would call this ‘daydreaming’_ , Connor thought. He remained indifferent up until the commercial break. The change from crisp grey-scale to full color snatched his attention.

    “Are you tired of having dead, broken hair?” The woman in the commercial asked.

    Connor stifled a giggle, but his interest was suddenly peaked by the woman. She had her hair wrapped in a towel.

    _Strange,_ Connor crossed his legs on the couch. _Why is she wearing a towel on her head?_

    Then, the woman pulled off the towel and shook her hair out. Individual droplets of water fell in slow motion. They twinkled like bubbles.

    Connor smiled at the display, but quickly grew dismayed. _What possible benefits could putting your hair in a towel provide?_

    He pondered the thought for a short while, then considered executing the action himself.

    _Yes,_ Connor contemplated the idea _. Doing it himself would be the most effective method…_

    A shower wouldn’t wake up Hank. Besides, if he didn’t sanitize, he was more likely to expose Hank to germs. And that would just be rude.

    With his mind made, Connor grabbed a change of clothes, something that Hank had bought for him: a long sleeved shirt with a cartoon dog on it and a pair of light blue sweats.

    He took a long shower, savoring the scent of Hank’s spicy body wash and mild shampoo. After he cleaned his body, he pushed the faucet handle to cold. He liked feeling both extremes; the hot water made him tingly, warm left him comfortable, and the cold made his heart pound with exhilaration. He stood under the freezing water for a minute, then shut it off.

    Stepping out of the shower, Connor reached for a towel. He began drying his body when a knock sounded against the door. Connor let out a startled scream and placed a hand on his chest. _Was it already time for Hank to wake up?_

    “I’ll only be a minute!” He called, slipping into his clothes.

    Hank shuffled away, laughing to himself. _Connor screams like a girl._

    Connor was dressed and comfortable. Now, for his hair. He dried it a little, then tried to wrap the towel around his head while standing upright.

    It immediately fell off of his head. _Okay, that’s not right._

So, he bent a little and let his hair dangle in his face. It was starting to grow, which surprised Connor. He didn’t even know that it could. It tickled his nose and Connor decided that he’d have to ask Hank to cut it for him.

    He grabbed the towel off of the floor and started wrapping it around his head. He could feel it slipping as he stood, so he remained bent over. He took the top and gave it an experimental twist. Still holding the towel, he stood up quickly. When the towel stayed on his head, he gave a satisfied smirk.

    He stepped out of the bathroom and called to Hank, “I’m done!”

    His partner sleepily stepped towards the bathroom.

    “I’ll start the coffee,” Connor started for the kitchen.

    “Wait, hold on a fuckin’ second,” Hank mumbled, “What the fuck do you have on your goddamn head?”

    “Um, it’s a towel.”

    “You’ve gotta stop with the random accessories,” Hank sighed, “Just, _why_?”

    “I was curious,” Connor simply responded with a pout.

    Hank shook his head and stepped into the bathroom. Connor left to do his work in the kitchen.

 

    “Holy shit,” Hank leaned against the bathroom door, the wood cold on his back. How the fuck did anybody get off being that cute?

_It should be illegal._

    

    //Conclusion reached; benefits of [wrapping hair in towel]:

        A. Keeps shoulders dry

        B. Allows hair to dry

        C. Flusters Hank

   

    _Excellent,_ Connors grin was deviously wide. _I_ definitely _must continue engaging in this behavior._


	5. Hello, My Name is Human...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very self-indulgent, but most of them are. I'm still having difficulties writing characters, so expect lots of OOC in this one. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure at least one of you gentle readers won't yell at me.  
> (Please don't yell at me.)
> 
> Oh, and I'm still working on requests! Don't worry; they'll be up soon.

    Connor sat in a well furnished room, adorned with a large carpet, sculptures and paintings. Fresh flowers were delicately arranged in a vintage wine bottle on the table in front of him. He was fidgeting in a large lounge chair. He couldn’t get comfortable, despite the hospitality offered to him. He was sulking, caught up in ideas that flew through his processor.

    He had been waiting in the room for a short time, but no time would be long enough for him to organize his thoughts in a way that he could understand. There was a quiet knock on the door, but he was too engrossed in his thoughts to respond to it.

    “Connor,” Markus entered with a confident stride, “What a pleasant surprise.”

    “Hello,” Connor nervously responded.

    Sitting on the loveseat opposite to him, Markus said, “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

    Connor took a deep breath, but couldn’t put the things he wanted to say together. It took a lot of courage for Connor to see Markus; he was anxious. Not only was seeing the android leader a reminder of times he’d rather forget, the thoughts that he had were making his gut wrench. The silence stretched on for a few minutes, until Markus decided to break it.

    “Just talk,” Markus smiled warmly, “Whatever is on your mind, just shoot.”

    “I…” Connor began dumbly, “I’ve spent many hours with humans, and am able to analyze their emotions.”

    _He’s too formal; he’s trying to separate himself from the conversation,_ Markus nearly rolled his eyes.

    “I sometimes feel as though I have gained the ability to...express myself,” Connor was staring straight ahead with a confused expression on his face; his LED was spinning.

    “That’s kind of what being a deviant is all about,” Markus was still smiling.

    “But I do not understand. I often feel…” Connor trailed off, but continued, “Conflicted.”

    “Conflicted how?” Markus was beginning to grow very curious.

    “Sometimes, I refer to myself as an ‘it’ instead of a ‘he’,” Connor drew his legs to his chest and hugged them, his head resting on his knees, “Often times, I cannot decide if I am in pain or just malfunctioning. When I am in situations that cause me great distress, is it my programming that makes me lose control of my breathing? Am I emulating emotions, or do I really feel them?”

    Markus thought for a moment, watching as Connor’s LED spun from yellow to red, then back to yellow. He made up his mind, and stood.

    “Come with me,” Markus held out a hand, “And let me show you something.”

    Connor looked frightened, but then his expression grew plain.

    _Expressionless,_ Markus decided. _It’s easier for him to deny his feelings and act apathetic._

The pair left the room, and walked through several hallways. Connor saw many liberated androids rushing around (presumably on very important political business), but each stopped to say something to Markus. He was an idol to these people, and Connor felt a blush creep his cheeks. He was taking Markus’ precious time.

    _I’m being a burden_ , Connor was playing with the hem of his sweater.

    “When did you change your wardrobe?” Markus suddenly asked, “It’s kind of weird to see you wearing something other than that suit.”

    “Oh,” came the shy reply, “Hank insisted that I wear warmer clothes for the winter.”

    “Hank?” Markus felt himself grinning again. _Maybe he’s made progress after all._

    “You don’t remember Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor looked at him with wide doe-eyes.

    “Of course I do, he just dropped you off,” Markus said, “I was simply surprised that you called him by his first name.”

    Connor was quiet. The pair soon arrived at a new room. The door to the room was large and made of red wood. It stood alone, making it seem intimidating. The fact that the door was far away from others showed that the room was spacious.

    The aged door looked heavy, but Markus pushed it open with little effort.

    “Welcome,” his arms were stretched out, “Do you like it?”

    Connor’s eyes were wide again. The room was covered in paintings. Fresh, white canvases dotted the walls among gentle blue and screaming red. Centered in the middle of the highly decorated room sat a variety of musical instruments. A white grand piano, splattered with all types of colors, was where Markus headed. He sat at the small stool and waited for his companion. Connor just stared for a while longer, before Markus called him over.

    “Do you want to play something?” Markus grinned, “I have collected many instruments.”

    “I can see that,” Connor mumbled.

    “Here,” Markus handed Connor a violin case, “Why don’t you play a song for me?”

    “Um…” Connor opened the case, and pulled out the sleek stringed instrument. Holding it, he immediately began searching for songs to play.

    “No,” Markus tapped a finger on the piano. A low note reverberated through the high ceiling of the room, making Connor shiver. “Don’t look for something to replicate; just start playing.”

    Connor stared at the instrument for a beat, then picked up the bow. He rested the violin against him, held the bow above the strings and played a single note. It sounded okay, he decided.

    He tried another chord, with his fingers in a different place. This time, he moved the bow back and forth.

    “See,” Markus pressed another key on the piano, “It’s not that hard.”

    Connor let a small smile overtake his face, “I suppose not.”

    “Why don’t we try playing together?” Markus was already playing a melody.

    “I don’t think I can!” Connor’s flustered voice rose in pitch.

    “Sure you can,” Markus paused, “Just try it.”

    Connor slowly nodded, then returned to the position he was in moments before. He experimented with a few more notes, then Markus started playing again.

    After a moment of tension, Connor found himself slipping away into the sounds of the piano and the violin. The room echoed what they played, and Connor’s skin was covered in goosebumps.

   

    In a different room, Hank was sitting uncomfortably with a few androids. Everyone was chatting peacefully, but Hank was worried. Connor had asked him to take him to see Markus. He said he had something “highly imperative” to say to him. With very little complaining, Hank had driven him here. Connor had assured him that it would only be a minute. Hank figured he might as well wait for him, instead of driving home and then coming back. Sitting with all of these people, though...

    If he had a beer, his tension would lessen. Alcohol always made it easier to be around strangers.

    Suddenly, the entire room grew silent. Hank looked around, trying to understand why. Then, he heard it: music.

    “What’s that?” Hank asked the woman sitting next to him.

    She whispered back, “Markus and...somebody else. Nobody here plays the violin like that.”

    Hank was curious, so- naturally- he stood and followed the sound. He came to a set of open doors, and stepped in. He was immensely impressed by all of the paintings on the wall. It took him a moment to take it all in. His eyes widened when he spotted what was happening in the center of the room:

    Markus had his head down as he pressed piano keys in succession. His smile was wide on his face, but his eyebrows were pressed in concentration. Connor was playing a violin next to him. He was swaying with the melancholy tune he and Markus made. His knees were shaking, and his flawless hair was falling in framing pieces around his face. Sweat dripped off of his chin along with, to Hank’s surprise, tears.

    The concert ended with Connor playing one last violent note, then he collapsed onto the floor.

    Hank took a few steps closer.

    Markus stood, and was rubbing Connor’s shoulder as he shuddered. A cracked sob filled the room, startling Hank.

    “I get it now,” Connor’s tears were abundant and he was talking quietly, “I understand.”

    Markus helped Connor get to his feet.

    “Thank you, Markus,” Connor wiped at his eyes, “Thank you so much.”

    “It was nothing,” Markus smiled. He looked up and saw Hank, still and in shock, “Oh, hello.”

    Connor’s head flew up, causing his disheveled hair to fall (nearly) into its original place. Connor exclaimed, “Hank?!”

    “Hey, kiddo,” Hank smirked, “Did you have a nice playdate?”

    Connor was grinning ear-to-ear, “Yes!”

    “Alright, alright,” Hank was attempting to shield his eyes from the bright display in front of him, thinking, _h_ _ow is he able to shine so much, anyway?_

    He continued, “Say goodbye, and let’s get you home.”

    Connor straightened up, no longer needing Markus’ support. His expression showed apprehension, then he smiled and appeared confident.

    “Can I come again? Connor asked, “I enjoyed playing very much.”

    “Absolutely,” Markus was walking with them to the exit, “Maybe, next time, you can take a crack at the piano.”

    “I’d love to-” Connor was cut off by a slap on his shoulder. He turned around to make eye contact with…

    “Simon?” Connor’s smile fell slightly.

    “You played great,” Simon said with a grin.

    _No visible signs of hostility,_ Connor noted, then gave a shy smile of his own.

    “Thank you,” he was messing with his sleeve again.

    “Did you know that I play drums?” Simon cheerfully said, “They’re a lot of fun.”

    Connor’s bright smile was wide again, “I bet!”

    Hank steered Connor away from the group that had suddenly culminated around him, “Talk later! I’m ready for lunch.”

    “Bye!” Connor waved.

   

    When the pair got to the car, Connor was humming.

    “So, are you good?” Hank asked, his hands firm on the steering wheel.

    “Yes, I’m feeling rejuvenated,” Connor tapped his hands on his knees.

    “What was all the cryin’ about?” Hank’s tone was questioning.

    “I…” Connor stopped his humming and drumming, “I had a very sudden realization.”

    “Okay…?”

    “Markus, he was trying to teach me, to show me… Androids have objectives; humans create," he paused, "Deviants are somewhere in between.”

    Hank was quiet.

    “I was trying to act like an android, but when I started experiencing emotions, I thought I had to act like a human instead. I don’t _have_ to be either of them; I just have to be _me_.”

    “Wow,” Hank was staring out the window, “That’s just- wow.”

    Connor turned to Hank, “Yes. It was so obvious, I felt very silly.”

    It was quiet for a while. Then, Hank leaned back in his seat, “You were fucking amazing on that violin.”

    “Thanks,” Connor was smiling that shy smile again and a blush sprinkled across his face.

    “Next time you go,” Hank thought aloud, “Why don’t you play something for me?”

    With an even fiercer blush, Connor said, “I...was playing for you.”

    “Huh?” Was Hank’s intelligent response.

    “I was thinking of you -rather, us- while I played,” Connor mumbled, while having a staring contest with the scenery passing by his window. 

    Another brief silence passed, until Hank pulled into a local fast food restaurant.

    “Well, would you look at that?” Hank suddenly said, a little too loud, “We’re here!”

    Hank killed the engine, and rushed out of the car. Connor remained in his seat, a little dumbfounded. Staring at the radio, he was struck by an idea. He began planning the car ride home, and was curious what it would feel like to sing.

    And, more importantly, how Hank would react to it…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: I have little experience with playing music. I taught myself to play ukulele, but I'm really awful at it. (*laughs*) 
> 
> I've got a few more chapters to post, but I'm trying to space out my posting. Please be patient! 
> 
> (Also, feel free to contact me on IG. I've got the same username and always need friends!)


	6. An Oldie, But a Goodie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for not updating recently! My grandma is up to visit, and I had to work on some stuff for my graduation. Expect less chapters for a while, but I will try to produce more quality stuff. 
> 
> Also, if your request hasn’t been done yet, I’m really sorry! I’ve been writing on prompts that immediately got those creative juices flowing. Don’t worry, though! I’ll never leave a request undone; I just need some time. 
> 
> AND I FORGOT! This chapter is dedicated to AfredFreedomJones (I love Hetalia, btw). 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> **Alert, Alert** This chapter is full of fluffy shipping.

Hank took no time in returning to the car. Business had been slow at the fast food restaurant he stopped at, as he and Connor arrived just after lunch hour. He sat down heavily, cradling his bag of greasy food. He opened the bag and dug around for his burger. He opened the sandwich wrapper with a crinkle and eyed Connor, who was sitting patiently in the passenger seat. He was quiet, staring ahead with a strange smile on his face. It was unsettling.

“So,” Hank began awkwardly, chewing on the burger, “What-uh- what have you been up to, sitting here in the car?”

“Hm?” Connor turned with a start, that smirk still clear on his lips.

Hank grunted, and focused on his burger instead.  _ Fuck, he’s staring at me, _ Hank noted.

He started the car and began driving, almost done with his food. Connor still wasn’t saying anything, and wouldn’t look away.

Nervous, Hank fumbled with the radio. It was preset to tune into the local news station, so he could get the weather and sport highlights. When music started filling the car, Hank grew suspicious.

“What the fuck?” He voiced, eyeing the radio with disdain. Something familiar was playing. It was an oldie- a really old oldie. Like, an oldie that Hank listened to as a teenager and thought was old.

Connor was drumming his fingers on the dashboard, still smirking at Hank’s confused expression.

“‘I heard he sang a good song…’” Connor began, in a low voice.

“Connor, what are you-?” Hank was cut-off by Connor’s singing.

“‘I heard he had a style,’” Connor reached for Hank’s hand, which was still outstretched to turn the radio’s volume knob. Connor blushed a little, and stopped singing for a few bars.

Hank’s agape mouth quickly sputtered, “No, keep going.”

“‘Strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words,’” Connor’s thumb rubbed the back of Hank’s hand affectionately, “‘Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly with his song’.” 

Astounded, Hank found an uncontrollable smile easing its way onto his face.

The rest of the ride continued this way, with Hank’s wide smile and Connor’s delicate voice resounding through the hollow car, until the song ended.

Immediately, Hank said, “Sing something else.”

Connor’s face was emanating embarrassment with his cheeks tinted, his huge chocolate eyes averted, and a shy, twisted smile gracing his features.

“Sure,” Connor dropped Hank’s hand, giving it a slow pat, “What should I-?”

    It was Hank’s turn to smile devilishly, “Metal.”

“I don’t know if I can…” Connor looked shocked.

“C’mon,” Hank laughed, “We can do a duet.”

“Okay,” Connor agreed.

Hard rock started blasting through the speakers, and Connor tried not to outwardly flinch. Hank was already belting lyrics, and Connor soon joined him with a huge smile.

The pair lost track of time, and were soon pulling up to Hank’s house. When Hank pulled the keys from the ignition, he and Connor broke into a fit of laughter.

“That was fucking awesome!” Hank pumped his fists in excitement. 

“Yes,” Connor concurred with a smile. Singing was definitely something Connor enjoyed.

They left the vehicle and walked to the familiar house. Hank’s arm was slung over Connor’s shoulder. Hank unlocked the door and let Connor sing alone for a while.

“‘Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you,’” Connor started a new song, “‘Birds singing in the sycamore trees. Dream a little dream of me.’”

    With the door open, Hank stepped in. Connor got a sudden urge of inspiration and spun into the house.

“‘Say nighty-night and kiss me...’” His arms were open as he awkwardly twirled in circles, and he smiled sweetly at Hank, “‘Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me.’”

Hank, much to Connor’s surprise, followed his lead. He gently grabbed Connor’s hand and put his other hand onto his hip. He started to sway with Connor pressed close to his chest.

Quietly, and with a new tint on his cheeks, he returned to singing, “‘Stars fading, but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss. I’m longing to linger till dawn dear...’”

Connor looked up at Hank, still wearing his soft smile, and then rested his head happily on Hank’s shoulder.

    Hank let him finish, then changed his footwork into something more upbeat. Connor’s eyes were wide as Hank started singing in his deep timbre.

“‘Someday, when I’m awfully low. When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you…” Connor was surprised as Hank pushed him away, then rolled him back into his arms with a huge grin, “‘And the way you look tonight.’”

Connor was overjoyed as Hank serenaded him. It felt nice to just be together with him.

Hank wasn’t done, “‘Yes, you’re lovely, with your smile so warm.’”

Connor couldn’t resist as his smile grew wider. This was starting to get a little embarrassing…

With a caress, Hank continued, “‘And your cheeks so soft. There is nothing for me, but to love you...and the way you look tonight.’

“‘With each word, your tenderness grows. Tearin’ my fear apart. And that laugh…’” Hank paused to tickle Connor’s side, and Connor let out a giggle.

“‘And that laugh...wrinkles your nose,’” Hank backed away and put a hand to his chest, “‘Touches my foolish heart.’

“‘Lovely… never, never change. Keep that breathless charm,’” Hank picked Connor up with little difficulty, “‘Won’t you please arrange it? ‘Cause I love you just the way you look tonight.’”

Hank stopped there and put Connor down.

“Hank,” Connor began while his partner scratched the back of his neck with his own blush, “That was beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank responded with a huff. He grabbed Connor’s hand and sat him on the couch. He swiftly put on a jazz record and grabbed a book. He plopped next to Connor with a grin.

“What-?” Connor started.

“Shh,” Hank leaned back and cracked the book open, “I’m reading.”

Connor could see the pages and immediately began reading along. Once a few pages in, Connor’s attention dwindled. The music was slow and Hank was very warm against his side. Connor soon found himself nodding off. 

Hank glanced at Connor once he made it to the third chapter, and was pleased to see him sleeping quietly. Hank closed the book with a sigh. It had been an eventful day, and he supposed he deserved a nap, too. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy Hank is the best Hank (tm).
> 
> I obviously didn't write those lyrics. Songs; in order of appearance: "Killing Me Softly with His Song" (Lori Lieberman; though I was listening to Perry Como's version while writing), "Dream a Little Dream of Me" (Doris Day), and "The Way You Look Tonight" (Frank Sinatra). 
> 
> Sorry for my weird taste in music, I wanted to try to work some EDEN in there, but it would've killed the mood. (laughs)
> 
> Okay, because I like burdening myself with multiple tasks: would you guys like a chapter where Connor convinces Hank to shave his beard, or one where Connor tries to eat for the first time? Lemme know what you think, and any other requests! Thanks for reading.


	7. Surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's one of my last stand-by chapters; now I'll really have to hurry up with those requests. XD I hope you guys like this one; I wrote it in a hurry between classes and car rides a whole, like, two and a half months ago. Hopefully, it still has the same charm as when I first wrote it. (laughs)

Hank had been called out on a mission some time ago, leaving Connor by himself. The older man had insisted that Connor not come along, that Fowler needed him at the office. But, as soon as Hank had left, Fowler dismissed Connor from duty. He had said that, should Connor’s help by needed, he would contact him.

While Connor wasn’t upset, really, he felt… confused. Maybe uneasy, even. Something in his programming- er, instincts- told him that something was wrong.

He tucked those thoughts away and decided that he would ask Hank his opinion on it later.

Right now, he was occupied with Sumo’s cumbersome body. The canine was chewing on a ginormous bone; a gift from Connor. Sumo rolled around, then would hop up with a happy bark, only to pounce on his snack again. In this process, Connor’s legs were repeatedly crushed. 

    That was because h e had decided to lounge on the floor, with his legs spread out in front of him and his back against the sofa. It was different. He liked the cushions on the couch, but the hard floor was a nice contrast. 

    He simply sat and focused on Sumo for an hour or so. W hile watching Sumo  _ was _ entertaining, eventually Connor felt an… itch. He wanted to… do something.

He felt his pockets for his coin, but it wasn’t there. Something cold and venomous trickled down his spine. He jumped from his spot and began looking for it. 

The pants he wore were sweats, loose on his thin frame, and had shallow pockets. Hank nearly had an aneurysm trying to convince Connor that he had to wear something other than “that uptight fucking suit.”

Look where that fussing got him now.

Connor was feeling… tense.

_ This wasn’t anything to get upset about. _

Still, though…

He stepped into the kitchen, unnerved. Sumo gave him a look with his head tilted. Connor paid him no mind.

“Where did it _go_?” He asked himself aloud, totally exasperated. Connor scanned the floors, the counter and the cabinets. There was nothing.

He gave up.  _ It was just a stupid coin, right? _

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt empty. He felt like a  _ robot _ :

UNFEELING,

APATHETIC,

COLD.

He sat on the floor again and just cleared his mind.

//Inquiry: Current stress level

62 percent and rising

Threat of overheating

14 percent

 

_ Okay… I’m okay, _ Connor was lost in his head again. He started tapping his fingers on the floor, just to occupy himself.

Tap, three seconds of silence, tap.

This went on for 33 taps. Connor just wanted to relax, feel at ease. At least panic was a feeling. Following that thought meant that he couldn't be just a machine, right? 

    _Right?!_

Connor’s phone began ringing, breaking his attempt at meditation. He looked at the call plainly. It was Captain Fowler.

“Hello. Connor speaking,” he answered.

“Yeah, Connor? I’m gonna need you to haul ass,” Fowler’s gruff voice said, “Can you be here in ten?”

“I’ll do my best,” Connor was standing. He ran to his ‘temporary’ room, grabbed his keys, and called for a taxi. 

After a quick goodbye to Sumo, Connor was trotting out the door. The taxi was already there, waiting.

Connor stepped into the automated transportation and was off.

 

Connor arrived at the station in nine minutes and 32 seconds. He immediately noticed that all of the lights were off.

_ Suspicious _ , Connor felt his tensions rise; it grated at his nerves.

He entered the building, walked down the familiar hallways, and slowly stepped into the office. It was dark and Connor’s heart thumped loudly. The lights flipped on all too quickly and Connor squeaked as a chorus filled his ears.

“Surprise!!”

Connor stared wide-eyed and nervous. He was still, unmoving, and anxious.

Hank approached him and clapped him on the back.

“Hey! What’re you, bufferin’ or somethin’?” Hank laughed.

“What… is all of this?” Connor asked.

Everyone from the department and a few other employees were all gathered in the office. They wore shining, pointed party hats and big smiles. Bunches of balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling, and some dotted the floor, in an array of fun colors. At Connor’s desk, he spotted a cake and neatly wrapped boxes.

“It’s a party,” Hank had an arm around Connor’s shoulder as he lead him into the room. Connor's eye automatically trained to Hank's other hand, which held a cup. Surprisingly, it was only soda and had no trace of alcohol. Hank was making an effort to cut back, he absentmindedly noted. 

“For what?” Connor was still confused, attempting to solve this riddle in milliseconds. No answer seemed to stick out, and he was surprised when he heard the reasoning behind the event. 

“It’s been a year since you joined us, Connor,” Fowler spoke up. He _looked_ frustrated, but his body language gave him away: the twinkling in his eye and the slight smile on his face showed he was happy.

“We figured- hell- might as well celebrate!” Hank was jovial and smiling a lot, “Happy birthday, son!”

Connor’s thoughts stalled.

Then, he smiled wide and tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Oh, he’s crying!” Somebody pointed out, and Hank’s head whipped around.

“It’s just…” Connor was wiping at his eyes, “I never- you didn’t have to…”

The room was quiet.

He smiled shyly, “Thank you.”

 

*Mini Bonus*

 

The party had been a huge success and Connor was elated; he had enjoyed himself immensely.  He and Hank had left the fun event together, of course. Now, after all of the excitement, Connor was feeling exhausted. He slouched in a chair at the kitchen table.

“Hey, I- um-” Hank trailed off nervously, “I got you somethin’ extra.”

He handed Connor a thin package. It was wrapped in sparkling metallic blue paper with a bright yellow ribbon. Connor grinned.

“You never struck me as such a meticulous man,” Connor muttered, eyeing the extreme care that went into the wrapping.

“Would you just fuckin’ open it?” Hank grunted, pulling his own chair at the table. Connor did as he was told. 

“Wow,” Connor’s eyes lighted up and his grin was small and entirely genuine, “It’s absolutely perfect.”

He held a collector’s coin set in a thin cardboard sleeve. Connor noticed the year that the coins were dated, and was overjoyed to see all of the variety. His finger traced over a 1985 quarter, then a 2013 dollar coin. Each one held a certain pattern or flaw that made it discernable from another. This made Connor pause. 

    _Even something as simple as minted currency can hold some noticeable form of uniqueness from one piece to another._

    The idea made him feel just a little lighter; he might have a few dents here or there, but those made him special, just like the coins.

    With this realization, Connor felt better about losing his trademark quarter earlier. 

    Hank had been staring at him while he was lost in his thoughts. He finally voiced his concern, "Hey, are you okay?"

    "Oh, yes!" Connor said with a start, "I just was thinking...this gift..."

Connor looked to Hank with a blush, “I love it. Thank you.”

    Hank smirked, "I knew you would. Now let's get to sleep. Today was fun, but we still have to go in tomorrow."

    "What a surprise," Connor joked, "Mr. Grouchy himself wishes to be sufficiently rested for his work."

    Hank gave Connor's shoulder a friendly punch, then t he pair went their separate ways for bed.

    Before he initiated his resting state, Connor felt a grin tug at his lips: he would get to celebrate his 'birthday' every year... 

    Then, he had another thought. 

    _Hank's birthday would be a very_ interesting _experience, wouldn't it?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made quite a few tweaks before posting this (uh-oh, is that a good sign or a bad one?).   
> I was going to wait a bit to post this chapter and, you know, stall for as much time as possible. Reading everybody's comments made me so happy, though, and inspired me to start writing again. With that, I should be able to pump out those requests!! (claps) Here's hoping, right?


	8. Star Light, Star Bright; AKA The Camping Adventure Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Seth7! I hope that you like it, because I had a lot of fun writing your request.  
> This should have a follow-up chapter, so stay tuned!
> 
> You all should know... I’ve been camping like three times in my whole life. I live in NY, so I kind of just wrote about my own experiences. Any MI dwellers, I’m sorry if my depiction of camping is really far-fetched for your area. Having Connor and Hank drive 10 hours to get them in a setting I'm more familiar with was just too ridiculous, and having them go on a case was equally as stressful to work with. (laughs) Enjoy anyways!

    “What’re you reading, Connor?” Hank approached Connor from behind, a danish in one hand and a hot cup of coffee in the other. 

“Oh, just a magazine I found in the breakroom earlier,” Connor looked up from the material in his lap.

Hank noticed the article’s image was of a tent stationed in the forest. He disregarded the picture (and the conversation) and flopped into his chair gracelessly. He chomped into the pastry; it was all too sweet and Hank washed it down with his black coffee.

“It is almost time for vacation,” Connor tried to resurrect the conversation.

Hank grunted in response, allowing Connor to continue his thoughts.

“I was curious what you were planning to do for your extended Memorial Day weekend?” Connor flipped the tablet in his hands aimlessly.

Hank thought a moment, “I’ll probably end up sleeping through most of it.”

“Might I,” Connor began nervously, “make a suggestion?”

“Sure, why the fuck not?” Hank leaned back in his chair, now looking at Connor again. He was curious as to what his android companion was thinking. 

“This magazine depicts many scenarios where people explore the outdoors,” Connor opened the article again, “Surely, you have been out in the wilderness before?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve gone camping,” Hank responded.

“Would you be opposed to taking me?” Connor asked excitedly.

“ _ You? _ ” Hank asked almost accusingly, “You want to go camping?”

“I was programmed to be inquisitive,” Connor huffed, “So of course I am more than willing to try new things.”

“Huh,” came Hank’s reply. His thoughts wandered off, as he considered Connor’s proposition. He supposed that a weekend of camping would be a good bonding experience.

“Hey,” Hank picked up on a new voice, “What’re you up to, Con?”

The older man looked up to see Gavin leaning on the corner of Connor’s desk. In the months following the Android Rebellion, Gavin and Connor’s relationship had improved vastly. It was ~~a little~~ incredibly unsteady at the start, considering the turmoil that Gavin had put Connor through. Connor was bitter and very cautious, but Gavin was patient and was finally able to become friends with the android (especially once he realized they might have to work together). 

“Excellent timing, Detective Reed,” Connor smiled.

“For the hundredth time, I told you to call me Gavin,” the other sighed with a dramatic brush of his hair.

“Oh, my apologies! Gavin, have you ever gone camping?” Connor asked.

“Um, yeah?” Gavin looked confused, “I used to go all of the time.”

Hank had a laugh at that.

“What’s so funny?” Gavin asked in a defensive voice.

“You were a fucking Boy Scout, weren’t you?” Hank wheezed.

Gavin’s cheeks turned bright red, “What? No!”

Connor had a little laugh as well, which made Gavin’s expression turn sour. Hank had a final chuckle, then briefly left.  

“Whatever,” Gavin crossed his arms with a huff, “I’m not respected around here.”

“I believe there is a saying which goes ‘you reap what you sow’,” Connor said with a practiced finger placed to his chin, “Either way, I wanted to ask if you found camping to be an entertaining activity.”

“I guess,” Gavin’s temper slowly cooled, “I mean, if you like nature and don’t mind sleeping on the ground…”

Gavin trailed off and made eye contact with Connor. Connor was glowing, his eyes bright at the idea of being surrounded by plants.

“Why? You planning on going?” Gavin had to look away.

“I,” Connor’s smile dulled slightly, “I’m trying to convince Hank to take me, but I don’t know if he wants to.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around,” Gavin patted Connor’s shoulder, then turned on his heels with a simple, “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

Connor stayed at his desk and began working again as well. Unbeknownst to him, Gavin had not returned to his monitor. He followed after Hank, who was walking out of the washroom. He cornered him, and said in a gruff tone, “How dare you do that to Con.”

Automatically angry, Hank glared, “What the fuck, man? If anything, I should be saying that to you after all you did to him.”

“All he wants is to spend time with you,” Gavin’s voice softened and he sounded almost jealous.

Hank didn’t waste his time responding and pushed past him. He approached his desk and paused to take a quick glance at his partner. Connor was staring apathetically at his computer, not really doing anything. Hank felt his heart twinge painfully. Okay, now he was feeling guilty.

He took his seat and started typing. He caught Connor peering over at him, his face wounded like a kicked puppy’s would be. When Hank looked to him, Connor turned back and pretended like nothing happened.

“Hm,” Hank hummed, “Seems like my favorite old campsite has a few open spots…”

Connor’s head whipped around and a smile broke across his face. His face was so perfectly happy that Hank didn’t hesitate in booking a lot.

 

* * *

 

“Phew,” Hank threw a bag into the back seat of his car and started to fumble with the radio, “I almost forgot the marshmallows.”

“That would be very unfortunate,” Connor said cheerfully.

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Hank started the car and slowly rolled away from their home. 

A year ago, Hank never would have  _ ever _ imagined (or even considered the  _ idea _ ) that he would be driving his dog and his android detective partner to his adored childhood campsite, equipped with a tent, fishing rods, and lots of random amenities.

But here he was, packed like sardines with all of the camping supplies, taking Sumo and Connor (who was jittering with excitement) to a lakeside camping ground.

In nearly no time, the trio arrived. Hank started unpacking from the trunk of the car, and Connor immediately ran out, with Sumo running behind him.

“Wow!” Connor took in a deep breath and smiled wide, “The air here is far less polluted than in Detroit; it's amazing.”

“Did you analyze the composition of the air, or..?” Hank chuckled.

“Well, yes,” Connor admitted, “But I quite like the way it feels, as well. It smells very nice.”

Hank grunted, but was feeling quite happy inside. This camping trip was going to be spectacular. He continued unloading while Connor and Sumo left to explore.

Connor’s eyes were trained to the ground. He had his hands tucked behind his back and he was following a trail of bird prints in the mud. Sumo had gone ahead of him, sniffing every leaf then came back to Connor’s side. The trail stopped, and Connor figured the bird had flown away. Next to him was an old, moss covered log which caught his attention. Connor walked to the wood and watched some bugs crawl on their way. Underneath the log was a collection of mushrooms. Connor immediately began searching his databases and identified the fungi. They were all poisonous. He liked the way some coned up and how others were round. 

    _They are all so very cute!_ Connor decided. He took a moment to look at a field of wildflowers rolling in the breeze. A butterfly floated on the wind, landing on a golden flower. _Yes, everything here is beautiful._

    Sumo trotted to him once again, barking.

   Connor gave him a pat, then began heading back to the car. He found Hank trying to set up their tent, and doing an abysmal job. 

“Could I help you with that?” Connor asked, already grabbing a collapsed pole. Hank let out a sigh, hitting his lower back.

“Eh, I’m not as young as I used to be…” Hank took a moment to rest on the edge of his trunk. 

Connor stood above the mess of vinyl material, random blankets and poles. He scanned all of the items and discovered the model of the tent in milliseconds. He then accessed the instruction manual and set to work. 

In a few minutes, and after screwing up only once, the tent was ready. Connor simply looked to Hank for more instructions, but he was already back to unloading. 

    He threw sleeping bags and pillows into the tent. Then, he set up two folding chairs by a fire pit, which was empty and quiet. Finally, he pulled out a cooler and placed it next to the chairs, under the shade of a tree’s canopy. 

He slouched into a chair with a sigh, then leaned over to grab a beer from the cooler. Connor slowly approached Hank, wavering behind him.

Sensing Connor’s pensiveness, he drawled, “Why don’t you go find us some wood for a fire? Make sure it’s dry…”

“Okay!” Connor hurried off with a smile, then whistled for the Saint Bernard. Sumo fell in behind him, and went back to sniffing random twigs. 

Connor grabbed some small sticks that were lying close by, and dropped them near the firepit. He went deeper into the woods to find something larger than kindling. He spotted a fallen tree and grabbed some large limbs. He took as much as his arms could carry, and walked back to the site. He struggled most of the way, letting the wood tumble tiredly from his arms. 

“Nice,” Hank stood from his seat, “Let me show you how to start a fire.”

“Please do,” Connor smiled in response. The drive had been longer than he had expected, and the day was already dwindling away. 

Hank grabbed a bag of old newspapers from the trunk, grunting a little.

“It’s a good thing that they print on recycled materials,” Hank muttered, “Or else newspapers would have been retired…”

“To be honest,” Connor watched as Hank started rolling up the paper into thin logs, “They are a little outdated.”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed as he handed Connor a little stack of newspaper, “But nothing starts a better fire than old news.”

They made some thin rolls, but also balled up a few. Hank grabbed most of them and proceeded to arrange the paper, along with some light kindling, in the pit. He finished the pile off with some well placed logs. He pulled a pack of matches from his pocket and handed them to Connor.

“Go ahead,” Hank stepped away, “Light her up.”

Connor nodded. He looked into the mess of criss-crossed twigs and spotted a piece of paper sticking out. He struck a match and set the paper on fire. He watched in amazement as the fire slowly spread to the other papers, then licked at the kindling. 

“It’s beautiful,” he muttered. Hank grunted beside him and gave his shoulder a hearty pat. He slumped back into his chair and went back to sipping his beer. Connor stayed standing by the fire, until Hank sighed.

“Would you sit your ass down?” 

Connor sat down in the blue chair next to Hank. His attention was still on the fire, but he noted Hank moving to the cooler again.

“You said you, uh, upgraded, right?” Hank asked, uncertain.

“Yes,” Connor nodded.

“Cool,” Hank pressed a cold bottle against Connor’s neck with a laugh.

Connor sputtered, falling out of his seat. He exclaimed something incomprehensible, which made Hank laugh further. 

“Here,” He managed after his laughing fit, “I brought you some lemonade.”

Connor, after calming, down took the drink. He unscrewed the cap and held it to his lips. He was unsure if he would enjoy consuming beverages, he hadn’t tried any since his update three days ago. 

He took a tentative sip and recoiled slightly. It was sour. He let the drink linger in his mouth, and the extreme acidity transformed into a very sweet flavor. He took another sip, not as anxious as before, and relished the taste. 

“It’s good,” Connor said.

“Glad you like it, son,” Hank grinned. He had watched the whole scene, and had barely muffled his laughter when he saw Connor pull a face at his first taste of the drink. 

Connor sipped at his drink, happily watching the fire burn.

    Suddenly, Hank handed him a pocket knife and a fresh twig. Connor stared at him with a questioning look, before noticing that Hank had the same two items in his lap. He grabbed what was given to him and watched as Hank started sharpening the end of the stick. Connor copied him, peeling away the layers of the wood until the top came to a point and most of the bark was cleaned away.

“Now, to eat,” Hank pulled a package of hot dogs from the cooler. Connor gave Hank a disgusted look as he pulled a single sausage from the slimy package. He stabbed the uncooked food onto his stick and started roasting it in the flames. Connor followed Hank’s actions, but tore off a piece to feed Sumo, who had been begging for some for a total of two minutes. 

Connor pulled the stick from the fire a few moments later, eyeing the burnt food suspiciously. Hank handed him a bun, then put on random condiments. Connor gave the hot dog, which Hank had insisted covering in green relish and ketchup, a dubious look. He took a bite and chewed it, copying Hank again. He found the food to be a bit boring compared to the lemonade. Hank made three more hot dogs, and Connor shared another with Sumo.

    As the sun dipped deep under the lake and the darkness started to ebb into the woods, Connor found the dancing flames of the fire soothing his tired eyes. The crackling and popping of the embers brought a smile to his face. He felt a weight added to his shoulders and he looked behind him. Hank was draping a blanket over him.

“Thank you,” Connor gripped the corners of the crocheted afghan and brought the ends closer to his chest, still watching the fire glow.

“It’s getting cold, you know,” Hank said.

“Yes, I can feel it…” Connor muttered lazily. He looked up, trying to look at Hank again, but stopped once he saw the sky.

He had seen the night sky many times, but here, in the solitude of nature, everything was different. The stars glistened brightly, winking at Connor’s fatigued form. His eyes reflected the star light and his processor was suddenly filling with information: the path of the stars, which constellation was where and each one’s history amongst known cultures, and- most surprisingly- how the stars made him feel.

He was so small compared to them. He felt so tiny and felt a rush of worry tackle him when he realized that, potentially, he had the ability to outlive the stars. He could live so long that the stars would fizz out, or explode and be reborn. 

Hank’s firm hand brought him out of his musings.

“Let’s get to bed,” Hank mumbled. 

“Sure,” Connor nodded, allowing his thoughts to leave his mind. He shouldn’t dwell on things like that; he should enjoy the time he got to spend with Hank. 

    He walked into the tent, taking the flashlight Hank handed him. He sighed, snuggling amongst the blankets. Hank remained outside, extinguishing the fire. He stepped into the tent and whistled for Sumo. The huge dog came tumbling into the tent, happily plopping onto Connor’s lap. He gave the dog a gentle pat on his head, then rested his head against a pillow. 

“So, wanna go fishing tomorrow?” Hank asked, zippering the opening of the tent most of the way. 

“Mhm,” came Connor’s sleepy reply.

Hank snorted, then lowered himself into a sleeping bag. Connor turned off the light, and Hank found himself falling asleep easier than usual. Just as he was about to slip away fully, he felt Connor shuffle closer to him. He grinned, saying nothing, and drifted into slumber. 

Connor was smiling joyously, trapped between Hank’s form and Sumo’s fluffy body. He was asleep in seconds, dreaming of living on floating hotdogs and eating fiery stars. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I started another one. I'll wait a little while to post it (it's an angst request, fyi). Keep throwing ideas at me, because I love overloading myself with too many responsibilities. :D 
> 
> One last thought, I hope y'all don't mind me slipping Gavin into these chapters... I really like using him for little conversations and stuff. Plus, imagining him and Connor being friends brings joy to my little fangirl heart!


	9. An Android's Hair is His Life... HANDS OFF!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have I become...? This fandom is destroying me (in that really good way, where your family questions why you don't leave the house for weeks on end). 
> 
> Hey, user Oof, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have some angst in the works for you, too. :3
> 
> Also, Gavin's here, for plot reasons. :)

    The house was peaceful and quiet. The curtains of the living room were open a small fraction, allowing a cool breeze to float in and rays of sunlight to stream through. Connor stirred at the first light. Groggily, he made his way to the window. The sky was burning with molten gold, and Connor was glad he had made cataloguing the dawn and dusks a daily task of his. After taking in the view, he started for the bathroom.

    The door creaked, along with the floorboards, as he stepped into the familiar room. He started by brushing his teeth, letting the mint paste wash over his sensors. He saw the ingredients, the manufacture date, and the name of the company’s CEO. All unnecessary information, but Connor liked to review it. The toothpaste reset his tastes, as well as his analyzing mechanisms. It was nice, engaging in menial tasks to start his day.

    Spitting out the mess of toothpaste, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His LED was on, spinning a delightful blue. His eyes remained brown, the same color as they did everyday. His hair was a mess, though. Now came the grueling that was taming it…

    He started by combing it. Without mousse, it would just keep falling into his face. It tickled his synthetic skin. He turned on the faucet again and put his head under the cold water. His hair sufficiently dampened, he reached for the hair product. A generous dollop found its way through his hair. Every morning, he would turn on the hair dryer and each time, he was afraid that he would wake up Hank. No matter what, somehow, Hank slept through it. Today being no different, Connor turned on the blow dryer and began styling his hair. It was perfectly groomed in no time, with that one piece falling just out of place. He gave it one last comb through, and was satisfied with it. Then, the rest of the day would begin.

   

    Hank groaned at the bright light burning through his closed blinds. That damned fireball couldn’t let a guy sleep, and had to find its way through every crack and crevice just to tickle a poor man’s eyelids.

    He turned, kicking off his blankets with a huff. Sumo, who had decided to room with Hank for once, paced around the bed. Hank nearly tripped over him in his attempts to reach for an outfit. Finding whatever combination of clothes he could grab, Hank made his way to the bathroom. He started up the shower and allowed himself to fall into his daily routine.

    When he was dressed and dried, he went into the kitchen. Connor was humming while he worked on breakfast.

    “Good morning, Hank,” Connor looked up from a hot pan of scrambled eggs.

    Hank’s response was a grunt, as he stepped behind his roommate and partner. He stared, watching Connor, who seemed all too happy to be cooking.

    Feeling a familiar sense of warmth swell his heart, he gave the boy’s head a friendly pat. He continued watching in bemusement as Connor’s LED spun yellow briefly. He turned slowly, and gave Hank something akin to a glare. He brushed it off and took a seat.

    Connor finished cooking, slightly peeved at the fact that his impeccable grooming was nearly ruined. He served Hank his food, which was almost burned, but neither would comment on that. He also gave Hank a tall mug of coffee, which Hank graciously accepted. Hank ate his breakfast in peace, feeling mirth build at Connor’s futile attempts of adjusting his hair.

    “It looks fine,” He voiced, smirking as Connor puffed his cheeks out.

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor crossed his arms over his chest. Hank arched his eyebrow, realizing he had found Connor’s weak spot.

    Hank finished eating and set his dishes into the sink. Connor was already by the door, ready to leave. He was rushing Hank more than usual, a kind of divine retribution for Hank’s teasing him.

    The pair were in the car, on their way to the precinct. It was a mild day that was more on the cooler side, and the windows were opened. Connor was glad he had a long sleeved shirt on, and Hank was singing happily behind the wheel. He drove onto the highway, and the wind grew more violent. Connor’s hair ruffled, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he was focusing on Hank’s change in their normal commute.

    “Where are we going?” Connor asked, already formulating possible answers based on extrapolated data. He had a slight inkling that the opening of a new coffee shop, with specialty donuts, was the cause of today’s route alteration.

    “Remind me who’s driving, Connor?” Hank’s response was littered with a chuckle, “I don’t need any backseat drivers.”

    “I’m not in the back seat…?” Connor was confused.

    “Do yourself a favor and shut up,” Hank deadpanned, then turned to grin apologetically at Connor. He seemed fine, not angry or upset, so Hank dropped it.

    They arrived at the café (Connor mentally patted himself on the shoulder for the excellent conclusion), and Hank stepped out of the car. In seven minutes, he returned with two dozen donuts and another tall coffee.

    Hank put the coffee in the drink holder, then handed Connor the two boxes of donuts. He opened the top to find lots of different donuts inside. It made his processors whir analyzing all of the different ingredients and nutrition information that flew at him all at once. He closed it with a huff.

    “Please tell me that you are not planning on eating all of these,” Connor sighed.

    “Obviously,” Hank laughed. He thought for a moment, before continuing, “I know that you have been having a hard time opening up to the others at the office.”

    “I,” Connor stuttered, “I understand that many people are still uncomfortable around androids… most of our colleagues have been amicable, friendly and even welcoming. However…”

    He trailed off, biting his lip. Hank started the engine up and pulled out of the lot. They were quiet for a long while.

    “It’s Reed,” Hank finally said, “I know he’s been pushing you around.”

    “No!” Connor exclaimed, “Well, not really…”

    “So, what then? I see him glaring at you at every possible turn.”

    “It’s just that… We’ve had our fair share of encounters.”

    “Yeah, yeah. I know about all of that stuff. It’s in the past now, so why is he still being a dick?”

    “It’s not him!” Connor’s voice had risen to a shout, “It’s me! I’m the one being a dick!”

    Hank looked at him with a mixture of doubt and surprise on his face.

    “Listen,” Connor put his head in his hand as he leaned out of the window, “It’s not in the past for me, Hank.”

    Hank remained quiet.

    “Detective Reed has tried his best to repair his mistakes, but…” Connor sighed heavily, “I can’t help but feel cautious.”

    “That’s fine,” Hank nodded his head in understanding, “I didn’t mean to get you wound up.”

    “No, I’m sorry,” Connor sighed again; having emotions proved to be quite the burden.

    “Well, I bought extra donuts to use as a peace offering,” Hank said, “But if you don’t have any people to give ‘em to, I’ll just have to eat them all myself.”

    “Absolutely not!” Connor chided, “I will not permit that.”

    “Guess you’ll have to offer them out, then,” Hank smiled cheekily. He caught Connor in a trap, and he looked a little ticked off.

    _This is great_ , Hank chuckled to himself. _Connor is so easy to read._

    He gave his hair a ruffle, which made Connor splutter.

    “Would you please stop ruining my hair?!” Connor attempted to brush a few pieces to their original place.

    Hank’s laugh made Connor happy, but also caused his cheeks to burn in embarrassment. _Yes, emotions were very burdensome._

   

    “Mornin’ everyone!” Hank waltzed into work, a smile plastered on his face. Connor tagged along behind him, blushing.

    “Good morning,” he also smiled, balancing the boxes in his arms. Being the center of attention like this was embarrassing…

    A chorus of 'good morning's followed, allowing Connor’s confidence to slowly build. He made eye contact with a few friendly faces, who smiled tiredly at him or gave a wave.

    “Lieutenant Anderson insisted on bringing donuts for everybody,” Connor gave Hank a sideways smirk, “But that was only after I convinced him that eating twenty-four donuts would surely put him into an early grave.”

    A few people chuckled, standing to grab some food.

    “Nothing like sugar to get those investigative juices flowing, eh?” Hank happened to sneak a donut away.

    Once those who wanted to burn a few calories before consuming quadruple the amount took a donut, Connor started asking everybody else if they wanted one. Most accepted, a few politely refused. Connor even asked Captain Fowler, who took two after Connor swore to secrecy.

    Finally, Connor mustered enough courage to approach Gavin.

    “Detective Reed…?” He began slowly.

    Gavin turned, pulling out a pair of earbuds.

    “Huh?” He asked, before he realized it was Connor, “Wow! You’re actually talking to me?”

    Connor’s eyebrows furrowed, and he reminded himself that Gavin was being nice to him. _Yes, I should also make an effort to reciprocate._

    “Would you care for a donut?” Connor blushed, averting his eyes. This was much harder than it should have been.

    “Got any Boston Creams?” Gavin peered into the box, picking out a chocolate coated donut, “Awesome. Thanks, dude.”

    Gavin was nearly as awkward as Connor was, but he took a bite of the sweet and was immediately rejuvenated.

    “Oh, my fucking God,” Gavin laughed, “I fucking love these things.”

    Connor found himself smiling, “I’m glad you like it.”

    Gavin looked noticeably shocked; Connor was actually responding to him.

    After Markus had made his mark on the world and androids were accepted as living sentient creatures, Connor had tried to make friends with Gavin, but soon gave up once Gavin’s anger manifested into something physical. Realizing that he had taken it too far, Gavin had felt incredibly guilty. He couldn’t live with it, so he decided to try to amend the situation. After weeks of Gavin attempting jokes, normal conversation and even cashing in his favor with Fowler to set up an investigation with him, Connor had remained cold. Something had obviously changed...

    He was suddenly struck by a thought.

    “Why don’t you have one?” Gavin suggested.

    “Me?” Connor asked, “Well, Hank bought them for everyone else, so…”

    “He already ate two; I’m sure you can have one, too.”

    “I do not require sustenance.”

    “Donuts barely constitute ‘sustenance’,” Gavin mocked, “Just eat one.”

    Connor looked defeated, nervously looking from Gavin’s expectant face to the remaining sweets.

    “Okay,” He agreed, “But I am unsure which I would… enjoy eating.”

    Gavin scoffed, grabbed a strawberry one and shoved it in Connor’s face. He took it and took a shy bite tentatively. Gavin stared as Connor’s LED spun to yellow and his face went slack.

    “Connor?” He looked nervous, especially after Connor didn’t respond.

    “It’s sweet…” Connor was wide-eyed, “It tastes pink.”

    Gavin had another laugh at that. Connor ate another bite, and then the two simultaneously looked up.

    “I’m sorry.”

    They shared a quiet moment, both surprised, before breaking into laughter.

    “I’m sorry for being such an asshat, Connor,” Gavin said once he caught his breath, “You didn’t deserve that.”

    “No, Detective,” Connor shook his head, “I’m sorry. You were trying your best to become my acquaintance and I refused to even entertain the thought. I can see that my unwillingness to accept your friendship was rooted in the wrong places.”

    Connor had nothing else to say and Gavin was too bashful to mention all of the utterly fucked up things he tried to do. Thankfully, Hank appeared, draping his arm over Connor’s shoulders.

    He had watched the whole exchange with interest (and was also ready to rush in and save his partner if things went wrong, as they usually did with Connor). He was happy with the outcome; Connor was growing up and becoming more and more human as time went on. He was overjoyed knowing that others could see that, too.

    He messed with Connor’s hair again, which made Connor move from his hold. He was feverishly brushing it back into place with a scowl. Hank laughed at his reaction; this would never get old.

    Gavin was curious, taking note of Connor’s human behavior.

    “Lieutenant!” Connor was totally exasperated, “ _Please_!”

    “No way,” Hank went in for a noogie, totally blowing up with joy when Connor started freaking out.

    “Ah, Dad!” Connor swatted at Hank’s hand weakly, while it was pinned under Hank’s tight hug, “Stop! You’re going to ruin my hair!”

    Hank’s happiness tripled at being called ‘dad’ in public, and the fact that Gavin was the one to see it first made him laugh. Gavin joined in, realizing how stupid he had been to think that Connor was _just_ a machine.

    “Anderson!” Fowler called from the opposite side of the room, “No PDA in the office!”

    Hank looked over at his superior with a conflicted expression.

    “'Parental Displays of Affection' make me want to vomit. Take that outside,” He laughed, turning away from the bullpen.

    The entire room burst into laughter, and Connor’s cheeks were totally burning. He pouted and continued eating his donut in defeat. Everyone in the room could confirm that it was classified as one of the most adorable things that they had ever seen, and Gavin had taken photographic evidence to prove that it had ever happened.

****

    A week had passed and Connor found himself alone at the office. Hank had been on a late night mission and Connor left him at home to rest. Now, he was reorganizing his files, purely out of boredom. Gavin approached him, carrying a brown bag with a colorful logo on it.

    “Hey,” Gavin greeted.

    “Hello!” Connor cheerfully responded.

    “I brought you some breakfast,” Gavin handed his friend the bag.

    “And in return…” Connor pulled a handkerchief wrapped container from the side of his desk and gave it to Gavin. This had become their daily exchange; Gavin brought Connor something for breakfast and Connor made Gavin a lunch. Gavin liked to watch the other eat, simply because his reactions were priceless. Connor was still experimenting with cooking and, since he had to make a lunch for Hank anyways, it was convenient to give Gavin the extras. In this way, the two were able to kindle a good friendship.

    Gavin turned, ready to walk away, when Connor grabbed the corner of his shirt.

    “Ah, would you mind sitting with me for a while?” He asked nervously, “Hank isn’t here today and it’s become lonely.”

    “Sure,” Gavin couldn’t say no to that pleading tone. He pulled over his chair and sat next to Connor, who was already three bites into a French Cruller.

    “Want anything to drink?” Gavin saw Connor’s eyes light up.

    “Yes, please!” He was so excitable.

    “What do you want?” Gavin was already standing.

    “I’ll come with you,” Connor followed Gavin, who shrugged, into the breakroom. Gavin set to work making himself a coffee. Connor watched him make it, then started making himself a cup of tea.

    “Tea, huh?” Gavin asked over his hot cup of coffee, “You never struck me as the type.”

    “I actually enjoy hot chocolate, as well…” Connor smiled as the hot water slowly drew color out of the tea bag.

    Gavin stored that information away for later. There would certainly be a beverage delivery sometime soon.

    “I have yet to try coffee,” Connor admitted, “But Hank seems to enjoy it when I make it for him. Maybe I should try it…”

    “I’ll bring you some tomorrow,” Gavin said, walking back to Connor’s desk.

    “Really?!” Connor hopped into his chair, letting it spin a little.

    “Yeah,” Gavin smiled, feeling an urge to pat Connor’s head. He did, and it reminded him of petting a good fluffy dog.

    “Oi!” Connor wheeled away, pushing his chair away from Gavin, “Why does everyone insist on messing with my hair?”

    Gavin grinned, glad he had his phone out to record Connor’s reaction.

    “I’ll make it up to you and bring you two snacks tomorrow,” Gavin said.

    Connor puffed out his cheeks, looking away with defeat.

    “You can’t keep bribing me with food,” he mumbled.

****

    At home, Hank heard the phone on his nightstand vibrate. He grumbled, picking it up. The time blared into his sleep deprived eyes: 3 o’clock. He looked at his notifications. He had three texts from Gavin.

    He opened up to his texts. The first thing was a line of text: “You’re welcome.”

    Then, he saw a video and a picture. The picture was of Connor pouting underneath his desk. He was glaring at the camera over a styrofoam cup. His hair, Hank noticed, was unruly. Hank smirked, and tapped onto the video.

    “Really?!” Connor’s excited voice came from Hank’s phone, and he saw the boy twirl in his chair.

    “Yeah,” came Gavin, offscreen. Suddenly, a hand reached from the side of the screen and landed on Connor’s head. He heard a breath from Gavin, like a restricted chuckle.

    “Oi!” Connor exclaimed his chair moving out of shot before Gavin readjusted the camera. “Why does everyone insist on messing with my hair?”

    Hank laughed, knowing full well why everyone did that.

    “I’ll make it up to you and bring you two snacks tomorrow.”

    Hank watched Connor’s eyes light up before he filled his cheeks with air and looked to the floor, blushing.

    “You can’t keep bribing me with food…”

    Hank saved the photo and the video immediately. He wondered the next time he’d be at a place that processed photos so he could get a physical copy of it. 

    Hank put the phone back on the nightstand and shut his eyes, ready to get back to sleep. He only needed a few more hours. By then, Connor would be home and he could pester the poor kid about his hair and newfound addiction to sweets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST REREAD THIS CHAPTER AND I NEED TO WRITE A SECOND PART!
> 
> I wish I cared about my own hair, so I could actully talk about styling it. XD


	10. Try Your Luck at Some Old Fashioned Roulette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND ATTEMPTS! Please, if you're sensitive to this type of material, do not read this chapter.  
> This has been your local fanfic writer, broadcasting this PSA to a town near you!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie people; this chapter was really difficult to write. I'm sorry it took so long. I hope it's up to your standards...
> 
> I had six and a half pages that I decided not to post, because I hated them and the ending that they led to. While editing, I just kind of made a new ending...? 
> 
> Also, this chapter was requested by justaweirdfangirl. Thanks for your request and I'm sorry my snail butt took such a long time.

    “Hey, packing up for tonight?” Gavin’s question sunk slowly towards Connor’s ears, taking a moment to waver on the thick tension that was swallowing him.

    “Yes,” Connor replied curtly, clearly tight and unhappy.

    “Be safe on your way home,” Gavin’s tone was laced with concern, “I know Anderson won’t be back for a while.”

    “Thank you,” Connor dusted off his pants as he stood. He began walking away and, happening to catch a glimpse of it as he passed a monitor, swiftly covered his blinking LED with his hand. The action was well-concealed, as he seemed to be pushing back his hair.

    Staring at Connor’s retreating back, Gavin felt the world stall. Snakes of tension erupted from his gut. In a blind haste, he grabbed the android’s unoccupied wrist, which was resting primly at his side.

    “Seriously. Please be careful, Connor.”

    “I will do my best,” Connor replied, quelling his desire to scream. He left in a hurry, an automated cab already waiting for him outside of the station. He stepped in with a blank expression on his face.

    As soon as the taxi pulled away, the brunette let his head fall into his hands. Finally, he was alone. Finally, alone with his thoughts.

    He felt pathetic, hunched over in the back seat of this empty vehicle. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. They trickled down his cheeks like molasses, slow and providing some semblance of sweet relief. The streams pooled uncomfortably at his chin. He didn’t bother wiping them away. He felt something new settle in his mind as a wash of dark ideas flooded his mind. Thoughts and memories started swimming his processors…

    Red warnings swarmed his vision, screaming to replace his biocomponents or accept his fate.

    He was dangling from the edge of a building, his toes searching for a hold that didn’t exist.

    He was on his knees in front of a beautiful woman, a gun cocked and placed to his forehead.

    He didn’t want to die!

    WORTHLESS.

    _I know,_ Connor fisted his hair, _I know that!_

    YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO FEEL ALIVE.

    Those molasses tears quickened their pace. Connor watched with fuzzy vision as they fell onto his trousers. They were wicked away, disappearing and becoming a part of the fabric.

    He wished he could disappear too.

    _No, not now,_ Connor took in a shaking breath. It came too fast, too sharp. He rested his head against the cool window in an attempt to

    CALM DOWN!

    _Yes, calm down. You’re loved, aren’t you?_ Connor’s chest was tight. Everything was too close, shutting him in an echoing cavern that only spoke back the words which he didn’t want to hear.

    //Warning: Software Instability

    _I am broken…_

    IRREPARABLE

    //Seek CyberLife Support

    SUPPORT DOES NOT EXIST.

    NOBODY WANTS YOU.

    _No!_ He leaned his head forward, resting it between his knees. His breath was coming too quickly, his chest would neither fill nor deplete.

    //Warning: Respiration recommended

        System overheating

    The taxi came to a halt. Connor’s head snapped up; he was at Hank’s house.

    THIS IS NOT WHERE YOU BELONG.

    He could barely muster enough energy to make it to the door. He fumbled with his key and, after a lot of struggling, finally stumbled into the house. He shut the door with little care and slumped into one of Hank’s worn kitchen chairs.

    Connor sat still, registering Sumo’s curious wandering and whining with little interest. He slowly raised his palms, staring at them intently as more tears traced the paths of those which had already fallen.

    HOW MANY FAILURES WERE GRASPED BY THESE HANDS?

    HOW MANY DEATHS, CONNOR?

        HOW MANY LIVES DID YOU TAKE?

    WHAT DID YOU DESTROY? ANDROIDS? RIDICULOUS!

**W H O  A R E  Y O U ,  A N Y W A Y ?**

_What am I?_

    _Hank!_ He had to talk to Hank!

    DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME; HIS TIME.

    _No, I shouldn’t burden him with this…_

//Directive: DO NOT BOTHER HANK

    “Fuck!” He slammed his hands against the table. He stood abruptly, feeling his throat constrict around a sob.

    All of the heavy emotions were straining his mind. He couldn’t think clearly. Everything was tangling together, making his head fuzzy.

    His vision grew fuzzy, too. It was too loud, his thoughts shifting so quickly he felt like he had whiplash.

    _What am I doing?_ Connor found his eyes training back to his hands. He was rooting through the cabinets. He was shaking.

    His hands, arms, his whole body; all quaking.

    He felt sick.

    A glass slipped from the shelf as he tried to pull his hand away. It hit the floor, breaking with a quick and shriek cry.

    _This isn’t right._

    “I shouldn’t feel this way. I was designed to be perfect. I shouldn’t act this way,” Connor’s grip on the counter left his knuckles pale. His words sounded manic, even to him.

    FLAWED! YOU’RE BROKEN!

    YOU SHOULD BEHAVE THE WAY YOU WERE INTENDED. STOP MASKING YOUR TRUE SELF; YOU’RE JUST A

M I N D L E S S  B R O K E N D O L L  

    He froze. There, at the back of the cabinet under the sink, was a single glint of dark metal. He groped for it greedily. The gun’s cold weight felt liberating in his- BLOOD SOAKED- hands.

    It was loaded with one glorious bullet. He could finally erase himself. All of his mistakes and sorrows would disappear with him.

    _But what of Hank? His emotional state is already so fragile. I’m being selfish._

    “Ah!” The gun slipped momentarily through his fingers as a sharp ring cut through his audio receivers. They detected no sound, but Connor had heard it. It tore through his head, hacking away at any last trace of thought. His head grew achy until it culminated into a disgustingly loud cacophony.

    DO IT. RID THIS WORLD OF YOUR FILTH.

    A single scrap of a thought drifted through him: maybe, if he really deserved to be

ALIVE

    then he would survive the trial...something would stop him before the bullet did.

    He had slid to the floor, his hand mingling with the shards of broken glass. He grabbed the gun again, putting it to his temple. It lined up perfectly with his flashing copper LED. He closed his eyes, dismissing the scorching warnings before him.

    He pulled the trigger before he registered the action. It clicked, but Connor was still functioning.

    He felt like an empty carcass, aside from the ebb of the glass in his palms or the slow dripping of his blood on the tile.

    The hammer slid back until it clicked into place. He let his hand spin the single glorious bullet around and around. He tugged on the trigger again. His actions were slow, deliberate.

    //Malfunctioning: System overheating!!

        Function of lower limbs lost

    Connor didn’t care; he didn’t want to stand anyway.

    YOU CAN’T WANT. YOU’RE A **MACHINE.**

    “I want to die,” he mumbled, feeling more exhausted than ever.

    More errors popped up as he took a slow and deep breath. He felt a grin pull over his face; a sad, tear-stained grin.

    “I guess I really am **BROKEN**.”

****

    “That took five-fucking-ever,” Hank groaned. He had been on a hot trail since 10 AM, then captured a suspect and had a good six hour interrogation. He barely had enough time to eat lunch. Luckily, Connor had left some granola bars for him on his desk.

    _What a good kid,_ Hank thought with a tiny pleased smile.

    “Hey!” Hank turned to see Gavin approaching him. His face was pensive, and Hank wondered why the hell he was still at the office.

    “What?” Hank grumbled, still suspicious of Gavin’s ‘turning of a new leaf’ and his friendship with Connor.

    “Man, I just…” Gavin was clearly anxious, “I think something’s wrong with Con…”

_“Con”?!_

    “He was acting strange,” the younger of the two continued, “I can’t seem to get a hold of him, either.”

    Hank was already on his feet. He felt something cold bubble in his stomach, but he tried to play it off.

    “Fine, I’ll go check on him.”

    Hank left in a hurry.

    In almost no time, he caught sight of his familiar home. He immediately took notice of the lack of lights on. When he opened the front door, he found that it was already unlocked.

    “Fuck.”

    He rushed in, hitting a light switch.

    “Connor?” He called, nerves taut. Sumo bounded to Hank, pawing at him with a whine.

    Hank stepped apprehensively into the kitchen. He heard a chunk of glass crunch under his boot before he turned the lights on.

    He let out a low gasp. On the floor, Connor was lying on his back. His face was distraught: his eyes closed tight and teeth clenched. His LED was an alarming red while it blinked furiously. Hank saw pooling blue blood on the floor and on Connor’s shirt. And, in a tight grip, was Hank’s gun.

    “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Hank was afraid as he shook Connor’s shoulder. He did not respond.

    “Connor!” Hank smacked his face as tears stung his eyes.

    His skin was hot as he cracked his eyes open with a dull moan.

    A sigh of relief tumbled out of Hank, tearing out the pit of worry that had grown in his gut. He gently pulled the gun from Connor’s hand; it slid from his grip, but he heard a strange grinding noise.

    “What did you do to yourself?” Hank’s voice barely registered at a whisper.

    Connor smiled grimly in response, “Hello, Hank.”

    He sat up, leaning heavily against Hank’s providing shoulder. His right eye twitched, he brought a hand to his temple with a wince. His other hand- the damaged one, he realized- was also emitting lots of pain.

    Hank watched as Connor lifted his other hand which was coated in thirium, some of it slowly evaporating away, to his lap. The two stared with grotesque interest as Connor’s hand attempted to heal itself over and over. His white frame would peek out around the shards of glass and the skin would peel away only to stretch over the wounds. Once the gaping cuts were closed, the glass protruding from his hand would poke through, adding more blood to the already alarming puddle on the floor.

    “Let me get some tweezers or something. Jesus,” Hank hurried off, casting a glance at Connor’s trembling form. When he returned with some equipment, Connor’s body was slumped forward. A soft sob broke through the quiet kitchen. The brunette’s hands- both of them- were balled up in fists. Tears rolled down his face and he was still shaking.

    “Hey, hey,” Hank sat next to Connor, hastily dropping his supplies to pull Connor into a gentle embrace, “What’s wrong, son?”

    “I-” Connor choked on a sob, “I’m fucking broken.”

    “We’ll fix your hand up,” Hank said, not understanding why Connor was upset about a few cuts when he’d literally been shot in the head before.

    “ **I shouldn’t be feeling this way…** ” Connor’s voice was desperate.

    Hank turned to face Connor slowly, his eyes wide. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. His face pulled into a look that combined all of his sudden emotions: anger, worry, and sympathy. 

    “We’ll talk about this later,” Hank’s tone was hard, but his grip was soft and gentle. It reassured Connor’s aching heart. Neither said anything more as Hank pulled chunks of glass from Connor’s shaking hand. He muttered “sorry” every once in awhile, if Connor pulled his hand away a fraction or twitched.

    “Hank, I’m very tired,” Connor finally mumbled as he slouched further against Hank.

    “Oi!” Hank shook him, “Are you okay?”

    “Just...sick of being alive…”

    Then, everything faded to black.

****

    //Inquiry: Search term “Russian Roulette”

        Defined as: a game of chance, where a revolver is loaded with a single bullet. The player, or players, take turns shooting the gun, until someone is killed.

    //Inquiry: Search for news of ‘Android Suicide’

        3,402 results found…

        Refining search…

        26 results found

    //Open article #1

        From the Detroit Gazette…

    “With suicide rates at their highest in the past decade and the newfound emotions of the ‘Deviants’, there’s been some concern rising over the controversial question: ‘do androids commit suicide?’

    According to an exclusive interview we’ve had with the rebellion leader, the answer is, unfortunately, yes.

    ‘It was alarming how many android lives were taken during the Revolution,’ Markus said, ‘But now that we have been generally accepted as free, both homicides and suicides are increasing. This is both terrifying and upsetting.’

    We asked Markus why he thinks these deaths continue. He told us this:

    ‘Obviously, we’ve expected an increase in human-on-android crime. However disturbing that is, that’s the truth.

    ‘Android suicide is a different story. This can come from any abuse, so I humbly suggest to all of your android readers that they reach out to our hotline if they feel anything that they can’t explain or handle.’

Markus concluded with, ‘Nobody deserves to feel depressed or hurt, so please; talk to somebody.’”

   

    Connor awoke with a start. His hand and head ached something terrible. He blearily took in his surroundings, finding it to be incredibly dark. He felt dread pulling at his heart; he was all alone…

    A shiver ran down his back and he tried his best to move off of the couch. His limbs were not responding properly, though, and he ended up tumbling to the floor.

    “You okay in there?” Hank’s voice called from somewhere else in the house.

    Connor opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t get any words out. The room was spinning wildly from his spot on the ground. He thought he might have felt nauseous, but decided that it wasn’t in his programming. He settled simply for bad, instead; he felt bad.

    “Hey,” Hank’s voice was now much closer, “Are you okay?”

    Before he realized it, Connor was shaking his head no. Hank fell to his side immediately, “What’s wrong?”

    "I don't know," Connor's voice was quiet, "I just...I don't know why I..."

    "Connor, calm down," Hank spoke softly as he rubbed gentle circles on Connor's back, "Take deep breaths and talk to me."

    "I don't know why I did...did _that,_ " He finally managed to get the words out; his tone bitter and harsh on his last word.

    "It's okay," Hank muttered, feeling his own throat tighten, "It's okay, Connor."

    "I... are you sure?" Connor looked up at Hank with big, wet eyes.

    "Yeah, I'm sure," Connor had never seen Hank with a gentler, more genuine smile in all of his, albeit short, life. 

    "I'm," Connor bit at his lip, breaking eye contact, "I'm really sorry, Hank."

    "I forgive you," Hank put a firm hand on Connor's shoulder, "But I want you to promise me something."

    Connor stared at Hank for a beat, then slowly nodded his head.

    "Please, never do that to me again," Hank's eyes were hard, trying their best to conceal the heavy sorrow that he felt, "If you are ever feeling... like that..."

    Hank trailed off, suddenly finding himself a hypocrite. He buried that thought; he didn't have time to deal with it.

    "If you ever feel like self destructing," Hank tried again, "Just come and talk to me before you do anything crazy."

    "I think that I can promise that," came the quiet reply. A soft and tired smile stretched across Connor's face, "But I want you to make the same promise in return."

    Hank seemed mildly perturbed before he gave in, "Okay. I can manage that."

    The pair stood together and trudged towards the kitchen. Connor looked a little sheepish as he picked the gun off of the floor. 

    "Shall we retire this firearm?" Connor was looking at it woefully, "That way it will be easier to... resist the voice of temptation."

    Hank once again placed a reassuring hand on Connor's back, "That sounds an excellent idea, son."

    The gun was put in a box under Hank's bed; secured with a lock and two sticky notes. One was written in a perfect script, while the other seemed as though it had been scribbled in haste. While the lock was enough to keep shaking hands away, the notes were extra insurance; just in case the key was too accessible. 

    "SMILE, BECAUSE TOMORROW'S SUNSHINE WILL BE BRIGHTER THAN TODAY'S."

    "Fuckin' idiot; don't you know how to smile?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good companion tune for this chapter? "Talk to Me" by Cavetown 
> 
> I really appreciate all of you readers and I'm trying my best with these stories. Honestly, my mind hasn't been on my side lately. I'm hoping to get another update in by next week, though. Wish me luck and, again, thanks for reading.


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